


The Supernatural... and Cats

by Nolesr1



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Brother-Sister Relationships, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Francis is a chef, Hunting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mostly from Kai, Multi, Nekotalia, Original Character(s), Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Supernatural Elements, Threesome, tags are weird
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-04-20 06:11:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4776566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nolesr1/pseuds/Nolesr1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Francis are well aware of the fact that they are still missing their soulmate. What they aren't aware of, though, is the type of job their soulmate has. After a misunderstanding here and there and maybe some unintentional magic on a certain Briton's part, Arthur and Francis, along with a few of their friends-the term used very loosely-soon learn just what their dear Alfred's job entails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hi?

_Soulmates:_ _a person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner_

The idea of a ‘soulmate’ is a fairly long-standing idea. Poets, storytellers, philosophers—everyone has had their own say in terms of a soulmate. However, the means of identifying another’s soulmate is a fairly newer idea. With the advances in science and technology, a soulmate identifying watch—a sleek, silver band of metal attached to a person’s left wrist, deafly counting down to the moment when a person is to meet their fated ‘other half’. Said band was said to fall off as soon as a person’s fated match was met.

This was Arthur’s problem.

He can remember the moment he met his best frenemy, a Frenchman known as Francis. The two had been unceremoniously thrown together when their mothers had reunited years after they had met at Uni. According to them, the two women had been the very best of friends and had done almost everything together. Their meeting, they had said, was almost as fated as the watches.

So, when the two children had been thrown together, their parents had been delighted when their watches had beeped.

Beeped, though; they hadn’t fallen off. Instead of counting down to zero, beeping, and then falling off, the band had beeped, gone blank for a brief moment, and then had started counting down again.

Their families, understandably, had been astonished. They had taken the boys to numerous doctors and _Watch_ ers—how Arthur cringes every time that name, that horrible pun is ever mentioned—and, from there, had learned that it is quite possible for a person to have multiple soulmates.

When the families had heard this, the reactions had been varied. Arthur’s more conservative family members had been adamant that every soul has only one other mate. On the other hand, the more liberal voices of both families had happily announced that they couldn’t wait to meet the other(s) soulmates.

Unfortunately for Arthur, both of his parents had been on the more conservative side so any talk of having more than a single soulmate was out of the question. So, given this disagreement between the family, Arthur was kept at arm’s length for most of his life.

Throughout primary and secondary school, Francis and Arthur remained as constant thorns in each other’s sides, always there and always with the other. By the time the two were supposed to go off to Uni, they made a deal: the first to find the lad (and, given their track records, they were well assured that it was indeed a ‘he’), would be the first to bed him.

The two had parted ways, though made sure to keep in touch with their… significant other. It had been a long four years, the two meeting during the holidays and during vacations with each sending the mocking text here and there, claiming that they would be the first ones to meet the other(s).

The two had yet to find the other(s) by their respective twenty-third and twenty-fourth birthdays, the same year that Arthur graduated from Cambridge with a Doctorate in English and four years after Francis had decided to gain his Master’s in business and opened his own restaurant which, much to Arthur’s annoyance, wound up being far more popular than either had anticipated, though Francis would argue otherwise.

“I am _god_ in the kitchen and,” insert lewd glance here, “elsewhere.”

“I suppose that will be your fatal flaw, then: hubris.”

During all of this, both were well aware of the slow ‘tick’ of their watches as they counted down to the very moment that they would meet him or them.

Though they never met the elusive member, both were aware of one solid fact: whoever it was, was positively _infuriating_. Not a day would go by when they didn’t hear a fateful ‘click’ only to look down and see that the time had changed—sometimes it was closer, sometimes it was farther. Once, though neither would admit it aloud, there had been a terrifying moment when the watches had stopped for a good two-and-a-half minutes. Just stopped. Froze.

Arthur was more than ready to give whoever the lad was a firm lecture on the proper etiquette of the whole soulmate-deal: giving your soulmate(s) grey hairs at the tender ages of twenty one and twenty two was not proper etiquette. Anywhere. Ever.

Francis was in the same mind frame, though he would no doubt be nicer about his lecture.

It wasn’t long after Arthur’s graduation that Francis was given an opportunity to visit L.A. under the pretense to try some Californian wine that the owner, a well-established man from Italy who often traded wine with Francis, claimed to be almost as good, if not _better_ , than the wine sold at Francis’ own restaurant. Francis, always the skeptic when it came to American-made goods, had taken the bet and Francis, with a very reluctant Arthur in tow, left for L.A. nearly a week later.

Which, much to Arthur’s chagrin, explains why Arthur now finds himself and a certain Frenchman waiting for a doctor in an American hospital, Francis pointedly trying not to say ‘I told you so’ after Arthur accidently set the timer too high for the cookies he had been trying to bake.

Strangely enough, Arthur is waiting to see a doctor because he had managed to cut his palm while trying to scrape some of the remaining cookies off of the tray. Francis, somehow, sees the humour in this and Arthur wants to smack him.

Both are now sitting in the uncomfortable chairs, not making any eye contact with the other patients, lest someone decides to strike up a conversation. Arthur’s hand is throbbing and Arthur tightens his grip, pulling the rag wrapped tightly around the limb.

Beside him, Francis groans,

“Oh, _mon ami_ , why did you do this to yourself?”

“Because it was a slow day,” Arthur answers his tone sarcastic and deadpan. He rolls his eyes and scowls at the Frog. “It was a simple mistake.—“

“The only mistake is that you decided to cook,” Francis mutters darkly whilst shifting in his seat. Arthur flashes him a glare and ignores the comment.

“Which anyone could make,” Arthur argues as, somewhere behind them, a child begins wailing. The muffled groans from the other occupants can be heard from all over. Arthur grimaces. “Why are we here again?”

“Because you were an _imbécile_ that believed he could cook and managed to cut himself. While cleaning the burnt remains of your victim.”

“… Piss off.”

“Kirkland, Arthur,” a nurse calls suddenly, snapping both men out of their argument. The two all but leap from their seats and run to the nurse—though, Arthur would argue, as a gentleman, he does not _run_ —who studies them with wide, somewhat worried eyes. “A-are you two—“

“ _Oui_ ,” Francis answers charmingly, though Arthur would never dare to say that aloud while within hearing range of the man. God forbid his already inflated ego grow. “We are, in fact, soulmates.”

The nurse’s gaze drops to the watches still on their respective wrists and then back at them, one stylized black eyebrow quirked. Both grimace.

“We can explain,” Francis begins before the nurse cuts him off, looking genuinely regretful of her coming response.

“I’m sorry, sirs,” she begins, clutching the clipboard in her hand tighter, “but the only people who can come into the backroom are family members and soulmates. Everyone else must wait in here,” she gestures towards the hellish room that both men had just escaped from.

Francis scowls at Arthur but nods, “you owe me for this, _rosbif_.”

“Oh, piss off,” Arthur responds irritably as the nurse motions for him to follow her. “As if I expected this to bloody happen!” with that final comment volleyed at the irate Frenchman, Arthur follows the nurse, feeling Francis’ glare burning into his back.

…….

Nearly two hours and 13 stitches later, Arthur exits the room with a doctor’s note for the pain medication, a warning not to lift anything heavy with that hand and, when the time comes to remove the stitches, he can no doubt find a doctor in France or London or Kalamazoo or wherever the bloody hell he and his ‘soulmate’ were going.

Half exhausted, partly irritated, and entirely unimpressed Arthur walks into the still somewhat full waiting area, eyes dancing around, looking for Francis. Arthur finds him sitting straight up in a chair in the back of the room, eyes wide, and sitting far too stiffly for it to seem casual. Arthur frowns and slowly walks towards his soulmate, wondering what could have happened in such a short notice for his normally suave bastard to look so… _shocked_.   

Arthur stops in front of him and with his good hand snaps his fingers in front of the Frog’s nose, gaining the other man’s attention. Again, Arthur notes the astonishment in his soulmate’s bright, almost sky blue eyes.

“Oi,” he announces, snapping his fingers once more in an attempt to get the man’s attention. The action proves in vain as the only response he gets in return is the rapid blinking of the other blonde’s eyes.

Now somewhat worried, Arthur crouches down between the man’s legs and reaches forward with his uninjured hand, cupping the man’s neck, his thumb brushing against the edge of his smooth jaw. “Francis,” he tries again, “are you—“

“I found him,” the other blonde breathes, finally shifting and focusing his eyes on Arthur. Francis covers Arthur’s hand with one of his own, wrapping his long fingers around Arthur’s palm, thumb tracing random lines in the skin. Arthur’s bushy brows knit in concern.

“Found—“Arthur begins, only to be immediately interrupted by Francis, whose accent thickens as his excitement grows.

“I _found him_ ,” Francis emphasizes, releasing Arthur’s hand and pulling the sleeve of his shirt up to his forearm. Arthur frowns, still confused, when Francis practically shoves his wrist into the other man’s face. Arthur flashes him a glare before his gaze focuses on the Frenchman’s wrist.

His _watchless_ wrist.

Arthur gapes at the limb, eyes wide as he cradles the limb in his two hands, his thumbs tracing the visible tan line of the naked wrist.

Arthur snaps his mouth shut and tightens his grip around the man’s forearm, locking eyes with Francis. “Well?” he demands, the excitement in his voice evident. “W-what does he look like? What’s his name? Did he look well? Did he say why he was in the hospital? Did…”

Arthur trails off as Francis’ face pales, his eyes wild and his usually pristine blonde hair somehow looking as messy and tousled as Arthur’s. The somewhat dim lights of the waiting room, Arthur decides, definitely do not help.

“Francis,” Arthur begins slowly, dropping the man’s arm and watching as he slumps forward in his seat and drops his face in his hands, “do you know what he at least looks like?”

“ _Mon amour_ ,” he begins, his voice muffled by his hands. “I saw his face—I swear I did!—but I cannot-cannot _se souvenir_ , cannot recall what he looked like.”

Arthur resists the urge to throttle the man, knowing that will help no one. “Can you recall anything physical about him? Hair colour? Eye colour? Anything?”

Francis hums, the sound deep in the back of the man’s throat and finally looks up, his eyes regretful, “blonde hair,” he begins, the tone of his voice telling Arthur that he already knows that the information is practically useless. “Blue eyes.”

“That can describe anyone,” Arthur grouches, leaning back on his heels and rubbing his eyes. “Fucking hell, that describes _you_.” Arthur glances down at his own watch and sees that he has at least three, almost four days before he meets the final member to their trio.

Arthur glances once more at the double doors that he’d just left through, wondering if he’d passed the young man on his way in. He turns back to Francis, not liking the miserable physique of his usually cheerful companion. He reaches forward and grasps Francis’ shoulder,

“Cheer up,” he says gruffly, “We’ve another chance to find him. We’ll get him next time,” he continues, patting the man’s shoulder. Finally, Francis looks up, a determined spark in his eyes.

“ _Oui,_ one more chance. “

…

_“Well?”_

_“You were right: it was the doctor.”_

_“Well, shit. How’d it go?”_

_“Good enough, I think. At least the Shifter’s out of the way. I hate that I had to get a concussion for it though.”_

_“Not my fault, dude. You were the one running down the stairs.”_

_“Fuck you.”_

_“Mmhmm.”_

_“Okay, so now we—wait._ Shit _.”_

_“What?”_

_“What’s wrong with my watch? Why is it blinking?”_

_“… wow. Way to go, Alfred. You fucking_ broke it _.”_

_“I-you-but we—“_

_“Only you, man.”_

_“Shut up, Kai.”_

…

 

Francis and Arthur decided to remain in L.A. for the time being considering that they were now aware that they’d meet the other boy in L.A.

Francis is being adamantly stubborn about not knowing what the boy looked like, saying that the face was somehow hazy, blurry, as though seeing it through splintered glass. Arthur doesn’t believe him: this is the man that can memorize the face of a person and then spot them in a crowd three years later; he can memorize the names and faces of hundreds of people that come in and out of his restaurant daily. To forget the face of their _soulmate_? Arthur doesn’t believe this.

“You have to remember _something,_ Frog,” Arthur demands for the millionth time, wanting to strangle the man’s neck when he barely looks up from his phone to glare at him.

“ _Ferme_ _ta gueule_ , _Angleterre_ ,” He snaps irritably, his mobile practically shoved against his ear. “I have told you again and again, I do not remember.”

“Bull shite,” Arthur snaps. Francis just shrugs and returns to the conversation on the other end of the line.

Arthur glares at the man and picks up the closets projectile and chucks it at him; the throw pillow flies through the air and smacks Francis in the back of his perfectly styled head. Francis glowers at him over his shoulder,

“ _Savage_ ,” He snaps, turning back to his mobile. Arthur, for what feels like the hundredth time in an hour, glances down at his wrist, where sits the watch, counting down the moment where he’s supposed to meet their Fated.

Francis, the prat, had announced that since he was the first to see the boy then he should have the first go with him. Arthur disagrees, saying that Francis had forgotten about the boy; he doesn’t even know his name!

His watch is still counting down and Arthur watches the seconds tick by. They have less than one day before they meet him and Arthur can only hope that he’s not stuck with another Francis.

…

The day passes slowly, listlessly and Arthur finds himself always looking down at his wrist. The seconds tick by until he and Francis are standing at a crowded intersection with about five minutes remaining, both antsy and knowing that the boy will be waiting for them on the other side.

Both men had made sure that they were wearing some of the nicest clothes they’d packed away and both are right now shifting their weight from foot to foot, silently ordering the lights to change so that they can walk. After almost an eternity, the walkman lights up, signaling for them to move.

One of the most infuriating things about Francis, among many things, Arthur will say, is that he’s taller than him. This means that the Frog will take longer steps, forcing Arthur into a half-jog to keep up. This, unfortunately, is what the bastard does now, striding through the crowd and farther away from Arthur. Arthur scowls at the Frenchman’s back, but keeps his pace.

Unfortunately, this turns into a particularly bad idea when some arsehole completely blows the light and comes hurtling towards Arthur. The honking noise startles Arthur, enough that instinct tells him that he has to stop and see the person that that terrible noise is directed at. However, he knows exactly who as the car nearly slams into him.

Arthur is positive that he’d be a bloody mess in the middle of the road— _bloody yanks and their complete inability to fucking drive_ —if not for the pair of arms that wrap tightly around his waist, tugging him back onto the side of the road. He and his saviour land in a heap on the sidewalk, Arthur’s back to the stranger’s stomach, both breathing hard.

Arthur’s staring at the road in shock, still not entirely grasping that some arsehole driver had nearly turned him into a road ornament. Behind him, he feels the stranger’s arms—strong. He can feel the muscle and see the lithe cords of the man’s arm—tighten around him and feels a heavy breath of air against the nape of his neck as the stranger breathes a heavy sigh of relief. Arthur notices, somewhat distantly, a burning in his wrist and hears a faint buzzing. Around him, the noise of humanity sounds as though it’s coming from the other side of a very large tunnel.

Finally, though, he’s aware of someone calling his name and his saviour shifting behind him. Panicked, thinking that the stranger will leave, Arthur tries to shift and turn, to get a better look at the stranger. He stops, though, when he feels the stranger lean his head against the back of Arthur’s, his grip tightening even more.

It seems that, finally, the world realizes that he was amost to be hit by a car and he hears the people around him calling for help. Arthur stares up and blinks and, suddenly, Francis is right there in front of him, grabbing his hand and pulling him to his feet.

Arthur studies Francis silently, distantly as he mumbles a stream of apologies in French, cradling the injured wrist (of course it’s the one with the stitches) and eyeing him with wide, terrified eyes.

He catches a few words here and there from the people around him and then, suddenly, one voice in particular seems louder than the others.

“—millionth time, Kai, I’m _fine_.”

“’Fine’? _Fine_? You were nearly hit by a car! In what world is that _fine_?”

“… My world.”

“Oh, yeah, that one. Is that the same one with flying cars and unicorns?”

Both Francis and Arthur turn to the voices, the people around them swarming everywhere. Arthur studies his saviour: crouching at the boy’s side is a slight girl, all in black, with braided, bright red hair, her hand resting easily on the boy’s shoulder. The boy himself it sitting on the ground with his legs apart, elbows resting on his knees, rubbing his eyes with his hands. He doesn’t look at Arthur when he finally looks up. He’s looking at the girl.

“Thank you,” Arthur announces suddenly, his gaze focused solely on the boy on the ground. The boy looks up and the first thing Arthur notices is that his eyes are a shade of blue that he can’t recall seeing on anyone before. Francis’ eyes are the blue of the sky. The boy’s eyes are a shade that he can’t quite name, though no less lovely. The second thing he notices is the lad’s hair, a mess of golden wheat with one strand stubbornly standing erect.

The third thing he notices is the beeping of his and the boy’s watch and the sudden _thud_ as both fall to the ground.

The lad stares at him, wide-eyed and Arthur stares back. Behind him, Arthur can hear the quiet ‘ _mon Dieu_ ’ from Francis and can practically _feel_ him stepping beside him. Though Arthur is still frozen in shock, Francis is not: he walks around Arthur and crouches down to the lad’s level—bloody _hell_ , he looks so young—his arm outstretched. The boy accepts it and rises to his feet, a smile slowly growing across his young face.

“Hi!” The boy crows enthusiastically, “My name’s Alfred F. Jones!”

…

Alfred F. Jones, they realize, is nineteen years-old. His friend, another nineteen year-old, is nicknamed Kai and, Arthur learns very quickly, he doesn’t like her.

She’s a foul-mouthed little shit who thinks that just because Francis and Arthur are rich then, by default, they cannot be trusted.

Alfred, on the other hand, is a child in a young man’s body, happy about meeting his soulmates (“Wow! I didn’t know a person could have more than one!”), and adorable. Though it seems odd to refer to a 6’3 tower of lithe muscle as adorable, Alfred somehow fits the criteria for that.

The four of them (Alfred had insisted that Kai tag along, even though the girl had offered to return to wherever they lived) are now sitting in some family owned restaurant, something that is vastly different than the restaurants that both Francis and Arthur are used to. They watch as both teens shove practically everything that’s on the table into their mouths, Alfred still talking.

Though Arthur detests people who talk while eating, he can’t help but study Alfred: the graceful slope of his nose; the firm line of his jaw; high cheekbones; dark, tanned skin; a scar on the bridge of his nose and above his right eyebrow; a broad chest that slopes into narrow hips; strong shoulders.

Alfred seems to be all straight lines and sharp curves, the product being somewhat, somehow, Elvin. His eyes are anything but: sparkling, good-natured, excited. Like a child that just made a new friend. Arthur is charmed and, judging by Francis’ amused smile and soft eyes, Francis is as well.

The most unfortunate thing about Alfred is his complete lack of care for his personal hygiene. The clothes he and his companion wear are worn and tattered, with small holes on the sleeves and body. Alfred is wearing some old bomber jacket that smells to high heavens and the fur collar is stained. Their jeans are faded and ripped, the soles of their runners worn down, and both look like they haven’t had a decent night sleep in weeks.

Well, the girl looks and acts like this. Alfred, on the other hand, looks like he can go another week or so.

“—and then, like, the hero makes everything explode with her super awesome powers and then, later, she gets cornered but because she’s the hero no one can beat her and—“

“Except the dystopian government that runs their lives,” Kai mutters as she reaches for yet another fry. Alfred huffs but flashes her a sunlight-bright smile.

“Yeah, them, but—“

“This is very interesting,” Arthur interrupts, though he hasn’t heard much of what the lad’s said in the last long rant. “But earlier, you said something about school. Where do you attend?”

There’s a very definite pause, a beat of silence, and the two share a look, as though debating whether or not to tell them. Finally, Kai answers with a short,

“We go to the local Community College.”

That’s it. There’s no explanation, nothing in her tone is defensive.

“Yeah!” Alfred adds, though there’s a new note in his voice and he won’t exactly meet their gaze. “It’s a great school, really! And—“

He looks as though he wants to say more, that strange false note still in his voice, but he trails off. At his side, the girl is still calm and studying Alfred, her chin cupped by her hand, her elbow rudely planted on the table.

“Do you have any idea what you wish to study?” Francis asks and Arthur can tell that he hadn’t missed the exchange, if it can even be called that.

The girl shrugs disinterestedly and Arthur has the feeling that the only reason she’s even in school is because her parents had ordered it. Arthur sniffs, his dislike for the girl growing.

Alfred grins, though the expression is not nearly as excited as before. “I like math and science,” he answers, twiddling with his fingers, though at least now he’s looking at them. “Engineering, maybe?”

Though both nod, Arthur is internally beaming: of _course_ their soulmate would be smart. He wouldn’t expect anything else.

From there, the subject of school is dropped and Alfred begins asking about them. Halfway through the conversation, Kai, thankfully, excuses herself, citing that she wants to go home, though her excuse is directed entirely at Alfred as she ignores the other two. Arthur wonders how often the two will be forced to deal with her.

With the L.A. summer sun beating down on them, the three decide to remain indoors for the rest of their meeting. They learn quickly that Alfred’s fondness of math and science is completely founded, though he has little knowledge of almost anything outside of the continental U.S.A. They learn that, for the most part, he’s entirely honest and loud when he wants to be. He’s a large man-child, a far cry from both Francis and Arthur’s calmer, more mature demeanour, though Arthur notices that the more time they spend with him, the more relaxed both men feel and it shows.

Unfortunately, like most teens, Alfred seems more than a little attached to his mobile and seems to take it out of his pocket every ten minutes to read it. The mobile, Arthur notes, is an old, practically ancient flip phone and when he catches a glimpse of the screen, he sees that each message is from the same person: Kai.

Again, he wonders how often he and Francis will have to deal with her.

The sun is setting and Francis and Arthur are arguing. Alfred is still with them but is, astonishingly, quiet. The three are sitting outside of a McDonald’s (“you call this food?” Francis had demanded when Alfred suggested. Alfred had shrugged and began walking towards the restaurant. Francis and Arthur had followed, though more reluctantly.)

“ _No, rosbif_ , you cannot cook. In fact, what you do would be an insult to cooking.”

“Bugger off, you wine-loving tool! I _can_ bloody cook!”

“ _Non_! You burn and cremate! You do not _cook_.”

“Well, I’d rather have a hearty _English_ meal than French _crumbs_!”

Across from them, Alfred sits, stuffing his face with what he claims is a burger, watching the match. The argument continues until they hear the familiar sound of an incoming text message. Alfred looks down at his mobile, nodding his head. He snaps the phone shut and smiles at the two, though the expression now seems somewhat forced.

“Hey, it’s been great, but I really have to go,” he announces, much to the surprise of both Francis and Arthur. They watch in silence as Alfred shovels down the remnants of his food, gaping. Alfred throws everything into the paper bag and rises from his seat, prepared to chuck the garbage away for them.

Both are in too much shock over the sudden salutation that they don’t react to his stepping closer to them. They do react, however, when he leans forward, kissing them both on the forehead.

He turns to leave, but Francis reaches out, grabbing his wrist and stopping him in place. Alfred turns to face him, confused and curious.

“Exchanging numbers, _oui_?” Francis asks and Arthur can see it in the older blonde’s eyes that he won’t release the lad’s wrist until he acquiesces. “That would be appropriate, yes?”

Alfred blinks slowly and nods, looking surprised, “I-yeah. I-I guess so.”

The three exchange numbers just as the sun sets completely, throwing the world around them into colours of brilliant orange, red, and pink. For a second, Arthur watches as Alfred is illuminated by the light, turning his hair gold and making his skin almost glow. In that second, the lad looks almost ethereal. The second is gone quickly when the boy turns and leaves with one final wave, disappearing into the crowd.

Francis and Arthur are left in a restaurant they both hate, staring at the place where Alfred had just left, shocked and surprised.

“He is… not what I expected,” Francis admits after a moment of silence. Arthur snorts in agreement,

“You can say that again.”

“He seems…”

“Really young?”

“ _Oui_.”

“And his friend…”

“They are hiding something.”

“I thought so.”

The two remain silent before shaking their thoughts away, reaching for their assets as they prepare to leave. Out of nowhere, though, Francis chuckles.

“The boy is friendly.”

“Aye. He sure has a lot to say.”

“I like him,” Francis decides as he casts the establishment behind them a look of contempt. “Though his choice of food leaves much to be desired.”

“He’ll learn quickly enough, though, with you.”

“ _Oui_ , I hope so.”

…

_“I like them.”_

_“I know, Alfred, you’ve said that at least a million times already.”_

_“No, but they’re really nice and smart a-and fucking gorgeous and their accents and—“_

_“Shall I give you a moment alone with your memory?”_

_“Shut-up. So, you said you found them?”_

_“I_ think _I found the nest, yeah.”_

_“And Kiku said…”_

_“Kiku said that there are still stories about people going missing. Also, didn’t Kiku move back to Japan? Why are we listening to him?”_

_“Because he knows what’s going on in the world and he’s our informant.”_

_“And the fact that you almost slept with him has nothing to do with it?”_

_“Shut-up. And don’t you like him? Similar… ah,_ interests _, right?”_

_“Yeah, I like him.”_

_“You just don’t like my soulmates. God, I have two! I didn’t think that was possible. Or likely.”_

_“It’s kind of sad that even with our line of work you still think there are impossible things.”_

_“Kai…”_

_“Yeah, yeah shut-up. I get it. Anyways, I think this entire thing should take about a week? A week-and-a-half?”_

_“Yeah, about two weeks. Hey, and did you know that Francis owns his own restaurant and—“_

_“Oh. My. Sweet mother of God. Shut-up.”_

…

Francis and Arthur wind up spending practically their entire time in L.A. either talking to Alfred, texting the lad, or talking about him. More often than naught, unfortunately, their conversations involve texting. Arthur, though, slowly grows even more exasperated with Alfred’s choice in friends. The girl is whiny, somewhat possessive (had the watches not proven that Alfred was their soulmate, Arthur would have little doubt in believing that the girl fancied Alfred), foul-mouthed, and sees both Francis and Arthur as nothing more than bugs beneath her torn and holey runners.

“She makes Alfred happy, _oui_?” Francis had once asked after hearing another long-winded rant from Arthur about the girl. When Arthur reluctantly agrees, Francis shrugs. “Then we must learn to deal with the little _diablesse.”_

Though the words are wise, the action itself is a little harder. Especially at nights when the two are trying to get to know Alfred and she calls him up out of nowhere. He leaves the room to answer and about three minutes later, he returns to the room looking world-weary, worn, and with some excuse or another that he needs to go. He leaves them with a small kiss on their foreheads and without a backward glance.

The first few times this happened, both Francis and Arthur had taken it in stride, knowing that the girl had known Alfred for far longer than either of them and to tell him who he could and could not spend his time with seemed a little too controlling. Plus, the two were friends and most nights he would return to the small flat that Francis and Arthur had rented. The evidence for this would be when they found the lad practically curled up in a ball on their Lazy-Boy. To this day, Francis refuses to delete the picture(s) and made sure to send Arthur at least three.

After the fourth time this had happened, Francis and Arthur had looked past how adorable the lad looked (he was 19 and over six-feet tall, he should not be this _cute_ ) and started paying attention to _how he looked_ : his clothes seemed even more tattered and raggedy and, while he slept the long sleeves of his thin shirt would often rise up, revealing cuts and bruises, some faded, others newer. The sight was altogether frightening and Francis even brought up that time many years ago when their Watches had stopped for those two-and-a-half, brief, heart-rending moments.

“Wouldn’t there be something more if it was _that_?” Arthur demands one night after bidding Alfred farewell, refusing to say _that_ word. “If it was something… _like that_ surely then there would be some sort of attitude change, wouldn’t there? The lad acts like everything’s right in the world!”

“Alfred seems like the type of person to always be happy, no matter the circumstances,” Francis argues whilst sipping his homemade coffee. Arthur can’t stomach that filth no matter who makes it and decides to instead take a sip from his tea.

“He also seems to be the type to where his heart on his sleeves,” Arthur argues. “If that were the case then wouldn’t he say something? Or wouldn’t his friend be more… well… _worried_ if something was amiss?”

“What if she doesn’t know?” Francis asks.

“Well, what if she does?” Arthur counters. The two remain at an impasse, though they also find a meter of common ground: both are intent on staying up late that night and asking the boy themselves.

…

_“Fucking… oww!”_

_“I think, Alfred that you shouldn’t go to their apartment tonight.”_

_“Cum’mon, Kai it isn’t that—fuck!”_

_“These kinds of things hurt, Alfred, you should know that by now. Not to mention that it takes a few hours for the bite to heal.”_

_“I_ want _to go back, though.”_

_“… Have they mentioned when they plan on leaving yet?”_

_“Ahh… Not-dammit. Recent—oww!”_

_“Mmhmm, when do you plan on telling them?”_

_“Telling them what?”_

_“… That Dracula is actually a pretty chill dude. That a vampire’s bite hurts. That a person can change their skin. That monsters aren’t just fairy-tales. That ghosts are realer than they think—“_

_“_ Please _don’t remind me of that one, Kai.”_

_“—man, what do you think?”_

_“Err… I actually never thought about telling them anything…”_

_“Oh? Then what do they think you’re doing now?”_

_“They haven’t actually asked yet.”_

_“… You know that one day, they’re gonna ask. What are you gonna tell them then?”_

_“I guess I’ll think of something when they do.”_

_“…. You know I hate this, right?”_

_“You hate them, Kai.”_

_“… I don’t really think I can hate them.”_

_“Really? Why not?”_

_“…Because you love them.”_

_“….”_

_“One last chance, Alfred, I think you should come back to the car. It’s not comfortable but you can rest there without raising any suspicion.”_

_“Come on, Kai, they’re always asleep when I get back. By the time they wake up tomorrow the bite’ll be gone.”_

…

The two wind up finishing off nearly three pots of coffee and tea respectively that night. By the time they finally hear the tell-tale sound of someone using the key to open the front door, it’s nearly 4:30 at night and both blondes are slowly falling asleep in their chairs. Arthur had taken to reading whilst pacing back and forth and Francis had taken to moving about in the kitchen, both in an effort to stay awake when Alfred gets home. Both have spent the entire night texting him with little to no responses.

At 3:30, both are silently wondering if it’s usually this late when the boy returns. By 4 o’clock, both are tempted to call the local Bobbies. By 4:30, Arthur has the phone in his hand and is dialing the number for the local police station when they hear the ‘clink’ of metal on metal and the twisting of the key in the lock.

When the boys enters, he doesn’t notice the two at first. The light in the flat is dull and the glow casts a haunting outline on the boy. Both Francis and Arthur notice the way he oh-so quietly closes the door and then leans forward, his forehead resting against the wood as his body sags. His hand still remains tightly around the door handle and the boy is yet to turn and face them.

Arthur, not exactly liking how the usually bright blondes sags, steps forward, breathing in sharply to begin speaking. Both are surprised by Alfred’s reaction:

He straightens and spins within seconds, his gaze intent and his body taut while his hand reaches for his waist. Finally, though, his mind seems to catch up with his eyes and he realizes that it’s Francis and Arthur. His body relaxes and his arms drops to his side. He smiles sheepishly at them both, rubbing the back of his head, and opens his mouth to speak. However, at that same time, the lad beushes a bit of hair away from a particular spot on his neck.

At the edge of the neck, well-hidden if the mark wasn’t so vibrant against the pale (pale? The boy’s usually so tan) skin, is what appears to be a bruise.

Or a bite.

Suddenly, everything seems to fall into place.

“Sorry, did I wake—“

“ _How dare you_ ,” Arthur hisses out, his hands clenched tightly at his side and his earlier worry fading into fury. Alfred glances at him, confused.

“What are you—“ the boy begins, but Arthur’s already storming up to the boy’s side, brushing aside some of the soft hair that had, yet again, fallen into place (the boy needs a haircut).

The bite mark is now visible and he can see the puncture where two teeth had entered. It is, without a doubt, the most detailed love-mark that Arthur has ever seen. That though alone feeds Arthur’s ire.

“This, Alfred,” Arthur snaps as he cups the boy’s shoulder and brushes a finger against the bruise. Throwing him off for a moment is Alfred’s reaction: the quick inhalation of breath would have been a good piece of evidence for surprise and damnation if it had not been quickly followed by the boy viciously flinching and dropping to one of his knees. Arthur stumbles back, confused by the reaction and watches as Alfred’s hand quickly comes up to cover the wound, his head bent and his hair falling in front of his eyes, breathing heavily.

Arthur suddenly feels Francis at his back and his warm hand against his shoulders. Though he’ll later deny it, Arthur leans back against the hand whilst Alfred remains on one knee, cradling his neck, and practically heaving. Beneath the fringe of hair, Arthur watches as Alfred bites down hard on his lower lip, as though trying to stay any sound that might escape. Finally, after a minute or so of silence, Alfred rises to his feet and drops his arm, looking at them both silently his face still surprisingly pale. Arthur can’t help but note how incredibly tense he looks. Standing there in his dark, torn clothes, messy cap of hair, strangely pale skin with bags under his eyes (how had they not noticed that earlier?) and his mind flashes to the bruises and cuts he had seen on his arms.

Somehow, _damn him_ , the boy still reminds Arthur sharply of the fey. In retrospect he supposes it makes sense since the Fey were capable of spinning the most interesting set of lies and lies seems to be the only thing that this boy can say.

Francis seems to be having the same thoughts, “Alfred,” he begins slowly, painfully, more serious than Arthur has ever heard him. Damn that bastard for putting that note in Francis’ voice. “Have… have you been doing drugs, _mon_ … _mon ami_?”

Alfred’s eyes widen and he looks genuinely surprised by the turn of the conversation. “What… drugs? No! Why would you thin—“

“Then it’s her, isn’t it?” Arthur hisses as he steps closer, throwing off Francis’s hand. Alfred blanches and steps back, his eyes still wide with confusion and hurt.

_How dare he_ … as though _he_ has anything to be hurt about!

“What are you—“ Alfred begins again, only to be cut off by Arthur.

“It’s her’s, isn’t it?” Arthur continues, ignoring Francis’ warning of, ‘Arthur…’ “The bite belongs to that… that _skank,_ doesn’t it?”

Alfred only seems to register the insult ( _of course_ , Arthur thinks bitterly, _why haven’t we noticed that before?_ ) and his eyes narrow and he stands up straighter. Arthur is all for ignoring the flash of pain in the boy’s eyes at the motion in favour of glaring him down. “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about but Kai has nothing to do with this!”

“Yes she bloody does!” Arthur practically screams as he takes another step forward. “And if not her, then where do these—“ he’s close enough now that Arthur can reach forward and press the pad of his thumb against the bruise. Alfred doesn’t realize what’s Arthur’s doing until he does it and attempts to squirm out from beneath Arthur’s thumb. Finally, he does, though not before scrambling backwards and slamming himself into the wall closest to him.

Knowing Francis, the man’s probably flinching, seconds away from intervening. Arthur doesn’t care, he just waltzes up to where Alfred has fallen, leaning mostly against the wall and rubbing his neck, his hair still falling into his eyes and his head tilted down. Arthur steps forward even more, grips the boy’s chin, and forces him to look at him.

“Where. Did. The bite. Come from?” Arthur demands, his voice hardly above a whisper and his gaze like steel. This time, Alfred doesn’t attempt to look away and Arthur can see every show of emotion that flashes across his visage.

Pain. Regret. Confusion. Understanding. Betrayal.

But nothing that could give away an affair. Arthur drops his hand as though burned and steps away, knowing full and well that disgust colours his face. The snort that follows is also an indication of Arthur’s feelings.

Francis, though, ever the saint, wants to hear Alfred’s side of the story so he repeats Arthur’s question, in a far more gentle tone. Francis steps up so that he is now beside Arthur, ever-present, ever-loyal. “Alfred, what happened?”

The look in Alfred’s eyes as he stares up at them is one of resignation, as though he knows that he’s damned if he answers and damned if he doesn’t. Finally, he sighs and lets his head fall back, rests it against the wall and stares brokenly up at them. The 19 year-old looks more like a boy in that moment than Arthur has ever seen him. He speaks, his tone resigned and flat, as though knowing that neither will believe him, “It-it was vampires that—“

“ _Get out,”_ Francis orders, his tone a complete opposite from earlier: steel and unrelenting. Angry and betrayed. Arthur wonders if this was how Caesar sounded to Brutus. Abel sounded to Cain. Jesus to Judas.

Alfred’ eyes are wide now and Arthur can see the way his eyes brighten, though instead of laughter, humour in his eyes, Arthur sees tears. The look is too sad to even watch.

“You heard him,” Arthur snaps. “Get. Out.”

Alfred stares from one to the other, his expression lost and confused, as though he doesn’t understand what, exactly, is happening. Another lie, Arthur notes bitterly. There’s no way a fool like this could be anything else but a fool. Not a Math or science prodigy, not a scientist, not an astronaut, and not an engineer. A fool.

Alfred slowly rises to his feet, rubbing the back of his head (though Arthur can’t help but watch as the boy steadfastly tries not to brush against the bruise) and straitening his spine.  He drops his hands and steps forward, arms outstretched in front of him as though beseeching.

“Come on,” he tries again, eyes darting from one to the other. “At least let me expl—“

“Leave,” Francis repeats in that same heartbreaking tone. “Or I will call the police”

That alone seems to get Alfred’s attention—what kind of villain had they been allowing in their midst?!—and he casts the two one last betrayed look as he rummages through his pocket and removes the key. He holds it out to them, showing them he has it, and then tosses it onto the Lazy-Boy, his old bed. He casts them one last beseeching look, but when it’s not heeded, he turns and opens the door. He walks out and closes the door with the same care that he’d opened it what felt like days before.

…

Alfred is standing by the side of the road, his head bent to protect his face from the shower of rain— _of course_ , he thinks bitterly, _rain. Let it rain_. _This is possibly the most clichéd thing I have ever felt_ —and waits. What feels like hours later, a beaten up old Chevy Ford truck pulls up, the driver edging close to the sidewalk. Alfred, grateful that his friend is being so protective of his car and trying to get as minimal rain on the exterior as possible, opens the door and clambers in, stretching out in the front seat and glancing over his shoulder at the truck’s tail.

His bones ache from the earlier hunt and the bite on his neck still feels like it’s on fire and the fire is slowly flooding into his bloodstream. He knows that the poison’ll be gone within a few hours, but that doesn’t stop the acid that seems to rise up in his throat and the burn in his eyes.

He remembers that stupid Cupid-thing from months before, “this is your curse, then: to watch the love in their eyes slowly diminish, filled with nothing but hate. There is nothing you can do about it. Why? Because you put the hate there.”

“Stop it,” Kai orders suddenly as she continues to drive around, looking for some empty church lot or some other sacred grounds. Alfred glances despondently at her,

“Stop what?” He demands flatly, just wanting to curl up in a ball and sleep and dream away this nightmare. If only he had taken Kai’s advice and stayed in the car. Then Francis and Arthur might not… well, hate him.  

“Stop this,” Kai retorts, waving her hand in Alfred’s general area. “I mean, we need to stay focused, right? And we can’t do that if—“

“Kai, don’t lecture me on a broken heart unless you know the feeling,” Alfred interrupts flatly as leans against the chair and stairs out the window. The silence that follows is weighty and Alfred finally has to ask, “we’re… not stopping. Are we?”

Alfred can’t see her but he can hear in her tone just how apologetic she really is, “we can’t. Kiku called earlier and said there were a series of disappearances in a place called Cannon Beach, Oregon.”

“So, we’re headed to Oregon?” Alfred asks, his tone defeated, still glaring out the window. Kai can hear that in his voice and winces,

“Yeah,” she mumbles apologetically as her eyes remain on the road. “To Oregon we go.”

Alfred nods, still not looking up, and hopes that this Hunt will keep his mind off of his heart.


	2. Surprise!

Arthur studies his reflection for what feels like the millionth time, wondering, yet again, what it is that has him so enraptured. Could it be the bags beneath his eyes? No, those have been there since… For months. Could it be the pallor to his skin? It can’t be. That’s hardly anything new. Could it be the way his cheeks appear somewhat hollow? No, those have been there for as long as the bags.

“See anything new, _cher_?”  A voice purrs from behind him. Arthur glances at Francis through the mirror, one bushy eyebrow raised.

The Frenchman, Arthur knows, has been worried about Arthur for months. Ever since Alfred… well, ever since that mistake over six months ago. Neither men have brought it up. Arthur has a sneaking suspicions it’s because neither men know how to talk about. So, Arthur’s response is an eye roll and an amused,

“Besides the obvious thinning of your hair? Other than that, nothing appears to be new.”

Francis snorts and pushes himself off of the wall he’d been leaning against and makes his way to Arthur. The Frog is wearing some ghastly Christmas sweater that Gilbert’s insisted he wear for his Christmas party. Arthur wrinkles his nose in distaste as Francis wraps an arm around Arthur’s waist.

“Oh,” he drawls out, his gaze still lingering on that ghastly sweater. “How the great have fallen.”

Francis shrugs, the material of the faded green sweater snagging on the man’s shoulder and nearly choking Francis. Francis drops his arm and attempts to correct the sweater, his face a myriad of expressions ranging from annoyance to contempt. After a few muffled swears in English and in French Francis finally manages to dislodge the sweater, glaring at Arthur who has the audacity to smirk at the Frenchman’s misfortune.

“Wait until you see the sweater that Gilbert has picked out for you,” Francis mutters darkly, though his pout somewhat dims the threat. The threat, though, manages to register with Arthur because his entire body stiffens and he levels one of his best glares at him.

“I am not—“ he begins, only to be cut off by the taller man.

“If I have to suffer through this, _mon ami_ , then so must you!”

“Why did Gilbert even do this?” Arthur demands, trying to dislodge the silly notion from the taller man’s head that he was ever going to near one of those monsters, let alone _wear_ one. “Last I saw him, he was as picky with his outfits as you are.”

Francis shrugs and begins to pick at some of the lint on the monster, though it does nothing to help. The monster that Francis wears seems to be staring at Arthur. The Frenchman wears a sweater with the imagined face of Jesus, Holding a balloon with a birthday cone atop his head. ‘Birthday Boy’ reads across the chest and Arthur, despite not being all that religious, suddenly feels the need to find the nearest church and pray. He also feels like either one or both of them are going to hell for that sweater.

Francis follows the Briton’s gaze and winces, “You do know that, the longer you stare, the worse it becomes.”

“I wasn’t all too aware that there was a worse,” Arthur admits as he reaches for the neck of the sweater and adjusts it just so. Francis flashes him a grateful smile, still picking off the lint. Arthur shakes his head, “what on earth has gotten into Gilbert?” Arthur asks aloud. “Honestly, he’s never been one for this—“

“I think Gilbert wants to show off,” Francis suggests with another shrug, “after all, his friends are meeting his soulmate for the first time. I have been told that we are, aah… an intimidating bunch at best.”

Arthur snorts as he walks around Francis, reaches for the vile bit of filth resting on their bed, given to him by his so-called friend. He glares down at the rag and shudders, hoping to forestall the inevitable. “Yes, but isn’t the boy in the RCAF? Surely something like us wouldn’t be near enough to frighten the boy.”

“He’s just enlisted,” Francis replies, using the same spiel that they’ve heard from Gilbert for the last month. “The boy just turned eighteen in July and he’s just begun training. According to Gilbert, he hasn’t seen much of anything so far.”

“Gilbert…” Arthur mutters, not sure if the noise is his way of showing annoyance or exasperation. Either could be used to Gilbert and both would be perfect.

“ _Oui_ ,” Francis drawls with a raised eyebrow and a sideways smirk. “Now, _rosbif_ , quit stalling. I wish to see you in your… aah, newest bit of clothing.”

Arthur makes a face, “How about we don’t but say we did. I can think of a few other things I would like to do, anyways,” he trails off suggestively, studying the sloping grace that is Francis. Francis, of course, notices the innuendo and practically stalks forward, caging Arthur in between him and the bed. Francis’ hands rest on Arthur’s hips and his body is leaning forward, striking blue eyes dark with lust. Arthur smirks at the sight.

Suddenly, though, his mind flashes to a pair of too-blue eyes and an innocent smile. _I wonders what his expression of lust would be_ , Arthur muses, though the thought is entirely unbidden. Arthur jerks at the thought, falling back a step back and bumping the back of his legs against the edge of the bed, nearly sending him sprawling.

Francis’ eyes are both amused and annoyed at the interruption and he opens his mouth to say just that. However, before Francis can even utter a sound, the shrill cry of one of their mobiles can be heard from the living room.

Francis rolls his eyes but turns and starts towards the living room. Before he completely leaves the room, though, he turns and smiles at the flustered Briton, “I want to see you in that vile rag when I get back,” Francis informs him with a smile and an impish gleam in his eyes. With that, he turns and vanishes from sight, the ringing still going strong. Within a second, though, the ringing is replaced with quiet words from Francis.

Arthur huffs and grabs the monster that’s lying on the bed, holding it at arm’s length as he stumbles towards the bathroom. When he finally enters the room, he turns the light on, throwing the dark, cold room into light and causing Arthur to blink rapidly once. Twice. Three times at the sudden brightness.

Unbidden, the look of hurt on Alfred’s face six months prior comes to mind and Arthur forces his mind onto more mundane topics, though it doesn’t last for long.

After they had… after Alfred had left, the two had booked a flight back home almost immediately. However, after a month moving between his flat in London and Francis’ home in the 16tharrondissement of Paris, the two had decided to return to L.A. and find the boy, get the truth out of him, and try to restart everything, though Francis had acted out of sorts for most of the trip. The second the two had landed at LAX, they had begun their search, calling the local Community College up and asking if they knew the whereabouts of one Alfred F. Jones and Kai… well, they didn’t really have her last name. Knowing that the schools had laws about giving out student information to random strangers, Arthur had told practically every person they had talked to that the boy was their soulmate and they just wanted to talk with him.

Only to find out that, no matter what schools in the area or surrounding areas they tried, the search came up the same: none of the colleges knew who they were talking about. Even when the threat of a lawsuit had come up, all of the schools were adamant that they had never heard of an Alfred F. Jones that fit their description or that the one they were searching for had ever walked through their doors.

With a sinking heart, both Arthur and Francis had tried broadening their search, looking through every police file and case of the past year, only to come up empty-handed. The only truly helpful piece of information the two had gained came from a missing child’s report filed eight years ago and, within the last four years, a news clipping with an obituary for an ‘Alfred F. Jones’. After that, Arthur had just stopped searching through there, not wanting to find something… well, that he didn’t want to find. From there, though, the two had spent a good four months in L.A. and both had decided to say for a bit longer in the hopes that whoever the boy they met was would turn up soon enough.

If all else fails, they can somehow corner the friend and work from there.

Arthur shakes his head, knowing that trying to completely dislodge the thoughts are impossible and just tries to shove them into the back of his head where they will wait until Arthur is tossing and turning in bed at 4 in the bloody morning.

He removes his shirt and reluctantly begins to pull on the sweater, praying desperately that it’s not nearly as bad as he’s imagining. He tugs and pulls on it, trying to get it situated comfortably on his person and squeezes his eyes shut when he finishes. He counts to ten before very, very slowly opening his eyes to study himself through the mirror.

….Gilbert. You fucking _wanker_.

The monstrosity that he’s practically been forced to wear is simply atrocious: the sleeves are a gaudy red, the wrists are a distasteful green as is the rest of the sweater’s body; right in the center of the monster rests a holiday cake, one Arthur has yet to try; in alternating red and yellow, capitalized letters spell out quite clearly, ‘Fruitcake’.

Arthur decides then and there that the maximum time in an American prison for murder is well worth the satisfaction of seeing that pale-haired bastard’s face turning purple.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He demands, far louder then he intended to, he realizes when mere seconds later he hears Francis slamming on the bathroom door.

“ _Sourcils_?” Francis asks through the wood, sounding concerned. “Arthur, _ca va_?”

Arthur plays with the idea of staying in the bathroom and never leaving until the holidays are over and he has free range to burn this atrocious waste of material in a fire pit that would make the legions of hell jealous, but then quickly realizes (as the knocking becomes louder and more frantic) that he can’t leave Francis alone to his own devices, especially when they’re both supposed to meet their best friend’s soulmate. Arthur swears at the realization and very slowly makes his way to the door, casting his reflection a dark look.

When he opens the door, Francis’ hand is extended, as though prepared to knock again. When the Frenchman sees Arthur his worried expression fades to relief and then very slowly, as he takes in Arthur entirely, to amusement. Arthur watches as the bastard literally has to force him smile back. Arthur crosses his arms in front of his chest and glares daggers at the man. Francis, standing a mere centimetre away, clears his throat rather forcefully before speaking,

“That is a, aah, _tre_ —“

“This,” Arthur emphasizes, making a wide, sweeping motion with his hands and encompassing his sweater. “This could make the Pope reconsider murder as a sin. For example: me murdering Gilbert would appear as a mercy killing instead of outright murder.”

“It is not that bad, _mon amour_ ,” Francis argues while still trying to hide his growing smirk. Arthur glares at him, his expression deadpanned and unforgiving until Francis finally loses the stupid smirk and drops his gaze. Finally, the sky blue eyes return to Arthur, looking more apologetic. “ _Je suis desole, mon amou_ r, I am only joking.” ‘

“You have a terrible sense of humour, then,” Arthur huffs, though his earlier outright anger slowly evaporates until he’s left standing there feeling more tired than anything else. Arthur sighs,

“I suppose we should get this over with,” he grumbles, walking around Francis and towards the kitchen where sits their contribution to the blasted party: resting atop the kitchen counter sits two different pitchers of liquid. One is a party drink that Francis had made and the other is Arthur’s attempt at making a sufficient… drink. Both look exactly the same, though according to Francis, taste very different.

Arthur glances over his shoulder at the Frenchman exiting their bedroom, “which one are we taking?”

“The one that does not pose any bodily threat to anyone,” Francis answers sardonically, earning an unamused snap of,

“Bugger off, you snail-eating tool.”

Francis chuckles and walks around him, reaching for the nearest pitcher. He pauses, glancing between the pitcher in his hand and the one on the counter, “Ahh… forgive me, _sourcils,_ but which one is…”

“I—“ Arthur begins before cutting himself off. Both look from the pitcher in Francis’ hands to the one on the counter. “I… actually do not know…”

“We should test them, _oui_? To see which is which.”

“Or we can take them both and feed them to Gilbert as punishment for these horrid sweaters,” Arthur offers, liking the slow smile that blossoms on hos soulmate’s face. Arthur has a feeling his smile, though edged somewhat dangerously, mirrors Francis’.

“ _Mon amour_ , I love the way you think.”

…

Nearly forty-five minutes later, the two find themselves standing outside of one of their best mate’s flat in Oakwood, staring up at the large apartment complex and blinking in the dizzying display of lights, especially bright at 9 o’clock in the evening. Around them, they can hear the rush of cars, the cool air blowing, and the hum of the world around them.

Despite himself, Arthur shivers at the rush of cool, late December air around them and hugs the sweater closer to his person before walking towards the entrance. Behind him, he can hear Francis on his mobile, no doubt telling Gilbert that the two are there and need to be told where to go. Arthur studies the Italian marble of the lobby and mosaic tiles beneath him.

Trust the rock star to find a place like this, Arthur thinks dryly. He’s dragged out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. Arthur glances over his shoulder,

“Gilbert says that they are expecting us,” Francis tells him as he slips the mobile into the back pocket of his trousers. Arthur nods, though he still finds himself studying the bright lobby. Francis glances past Arthur to the woman at the front desk, mindlessly chattering to someone on their phone. Francis nods towards the woman, “I will speak with her, tell her who we are and why we are here, _oui_? Then we will see Gilbert.”

Arthur nods and makes to follow when, out of the corner of his eyes, he sees something silver flash against his vision. Given that the two are near the entrance of the complex and that there are hundreds of cars rushing by, Arthur would normally brush the odd flash of colour out of his mind. However, considering that this is hardly the first time he’s seen the strange bit of light, Arthur can’t seem to brush it away as a figure of his own imagination.

He doesn’t know what it is. All he knows is that within the last six months, it’s almost as though something is following him—no. Not _following_ , per se, more like protecting him. _Guarding_ him. For the life of him, Arthur can’t quite figure out what it is. While wondering alone at night back home in London, Arthur would sometimes see that flash of light; when he was trying to find any signs of Alfred, he’d sometimes see that strange flash of light. Even Francis has claimed to see it, though the older man usually brushes the sighting out of mind, stating that it was merely exhaustion.

Arthur, though he feels tired, does not quite think that’s what the strange flash of colour is.

“— _merci_!” Arthur hears suddenly as he forces his gaze away from the front doors of the complex and to where Francis is now standing, trying to get Arthur’s attention.

“ _Sourcils_ ,” he calls, waving him forward, “the kindly _hôtesse_ says that our absentminded friend has indeed warned them of our arrival.”

“I believe that occurrence is less of Gilbert’s work and more of Matthew’s,” Arthur responds as he slowly treks towards Francis. When he reaches the other man, Francis wraps an arm around Arthur’s shoulders, the two making their way towards the lift.

Near ten minutes later, both men are hopelessly lost within the bowels of the large complex and contemplating whether or not it would be best to drop the pitchers of drink and just return home. Twice, now, Francis has called Gilbert in hopes that their directionally challenged friend would be of some use and twice now, that hope has been in vain.

“For the millionth time, Gilbert,” Francis growls through gritted teeth as he and Arthur stand against one of the walls, trying to get their bearings, though having little luck. At Arthur’s feet rests the pitchers and Arthur casts the two objects an imperious glance before leaning his head back against the wall, wondering if Francis would be more willing to murder their best friend now. “ _Oui_ , I have followed your directions and— _non. Non, mon ami_ , you said—but,” Francis pauses and Arthur lets his head fall to the side and crosses his arms over his chest at the sudden change in Francis’ demeanour. After listening to the one-sided debate for over a minute, Arthur watches with amusement as Francis’ expression changes from outright annoyance to a flat, deadpan look. “Gilbert, _vous êtes un imbécile_.”

With that, Francis hangs up and violently shoves the mobile into his back pocket, “So,” Arthur feels the need to draw out, though he knows now probably isn’t the best time, “how’d the conversation go?”

“Our dear _idiot_ has told us to go right instead of left and now we must wait for his dear Mathieu to find us and guide us down the correct path.”

Arthur hums, acknowledging that he’s heard the comment and speaks, “You know, we could always return to our flat,” he suggests, though both know that they are here for their friend and returning home is not an option. Either way, Francis pretends to consider the comment before shaking his head.

The two remain there for nearly ten minutes when they hear the sounds of footfalls from down the hall. Both crane their necks in an attempt to spot the person behind the noise and when Arthur catches the sight of blonde hair, he crouches down, reaching for the pitchers, and stands straight, practically shoving one into Francis’ stomach and earning a pathetic groan for the deed. Arthur snorts and casts Francis a flat look before turning and smiling sheepishly at their rescuer. However, as soon as the man—boy, really. He looks so young!—comes into view, Arthur’s smile drops as he’s left staring at a mirror image of their soulmate.

For one second, Arthur’s mind flashes to the obituary he and Francis found while looking for Alfred. He quickly shoves the thought away, though, when the look-alike smiles softly and reaches them, offering a hand to Arthur,

“Hi,” the look-alike begins and Arthur is struck by how much he looks like Alfred but how little he sounds like the boisterous boy. “I’m Matthew. I take it that the two of you are the people that Gilbert confused?”

“The _imbécile_ has gotten us lost,” Francis answers flatly, seeming oblivious that their soulmate’s doppelgänger is standing not two metres away from the pair. Arthur continues to stare at the other with what is no doubt a very frightening look. “Honestly, I do not know why—“

“Gilbert is terrible with directions,” Matthew intervenes, his smile apologetic though his words hold a little more force. “This isn’t the first time he’s gotten someone lost.”

“The man is like a _chiot_ ,” Francis huffs, though Arthur can see signs that his anger is dimming. He, in turn, studies the look-alike curiously, his eyes glazed and confused, “ _je suis desole_ ,” Francis finally mumbles shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. “You… you look familiar…”

Francis trails off and Matthew stares at the two with growing confusion. Finally, though, Arthur finds his voice, “Excuse us,” he begins, “but you wouldn’t happen to have a, aah, brother of sorts, would you?”

As soon as the question leaves his mouth, Arthur realises that he’s said something wrong. Matthew’s eyes (a strange dark blue, almost purple colour) narrow dangerously, and his soft face cools, his expression becoming flat as he glares at the two surprised men. A second later, though, the dark expression vanishes, replaced with a sad look. He studies the two quietly with those same grieving eyes before speaking,

“Come along,” he announces, his voice devoid of anything besides a business-like tone, “I’ll show you where the apartment really is so that next time you won’t get lost.”

With that, the boy begins walking, his long legs carrying him away quickly, making Francis and Arthur nearly scramble to keep up with him.

The trio continues to walk in a heavy, awkward silence, neither Francis nor Arthur knowing quite what to say after Arthur’s question. Finally, though, the trio makes it to what they hope is the right flat. The two are assuming it is, considering the fact that the quiet Canadian has little trouble in reaching for the door knob and letting the door swing open, holding it open for only a brief moment to allow the other two to enter.

Arthur and Francis nod their thanks at the Canadian who motions towards their drinks. The two oblige and give the boy their pitchers and watch as he vanishes from sight. Arthur and Francis study the spot where he vanished, both more than a little confused by the blonde’s attitude. Francis finally shrugs and wraps his arm around Arthur’s shoulders, dragging the slightly shorter man out of his reverie.

Arthur sighs and shakes his head,

“Let’s get this bloody show on the road.”

…

Francis had met Gilbert his first semester of Uni and somehow the two opposites had managed to become best mates. Arthur, who had met Gilbert when the Frenchman had brought him home over the holidays, had only tolerated him because he made Francis somewhat bearable in comparison.

Anyways, Halfway through their schooling, right after Francis had decided that he wanted only his Master’s in business, Gilbert had decided that the very last thing he wanted was to be saddled with some mundane job that he didn’t want, working with people that he couldn’t stand. So, going against his father’s wishes, Gilbert had dropped out of school, leaving the family business in the hands of his younger brother, and had picked up an electric guitar. From there, he traveled through Europe and eventually made it big, three years after dropping out. Arthur estimates that he was about twenty-one when he finally made it big. Now, at twenty-five, the world-renowned lead singer of the band ‘Old Fritz’, a Punk band that’s somehow made it big, even in the States, has little problem in flaunting his success.

Arthur wonders how the quiet blonde can stand having such a loud Soulmate.

Arthur rolls his eyes and leans back on his heels, taking another long swig from his beer bottle and wondering how Americans can stand having such weak piss as their drinking partners. Around them, Arthur notes another couple across from him, an aristocratic young man with a very pretty woman standing beside him, both seeming to be in a deep conversation. Arthur recognises Roderich Edelstein and Elizabeta Héderváry, two of Gilbert’s bandmates and soulmates to the other. From what Arthur can recall, Gilbert met the Key board player and drummer respectively while wondering through some museum in Austria.

Across the room, Arthur spots the happy-go-lucky acoustic guitar player, Antonio Carriedo happily chatting away with Francis while his soulmate, a foul-tempered Italian named Lovino Vargas, stands next to him, looking uncomfortable with his soulmate’s arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders and not allowing him to escape. Arthur can almost feel bad for him.

Not too far from Arthur and seated on the sofa sits the band’s manager. A wily, clever Chinese man introduced to Arthur as Yao Wang. When Arthur had first met the man, he had been astonished that he had known anything about the genre ‘punk’. It wasn’t until he managed to successfully sell out Gilbert’s first four shows and then some that Arthur had realised that the man knew far more about the business than he let on. Arthur, even in the dim light of the flat, can’t help but notice the visible band around the other man’s pale wrist and deduced that the dark-haired man was still looking for his soulmate.

Not far from Yao, seated on the same sofa, sits Gilbert’s younger brother, Ludwig, a straight-laced, no-nonsense type fellow that makes Arthur curious if Gilbert had been dropped off by something supernatural as the two are worlds apart in both attitude and demeanour. Beside him, chatting away about something that Arthur doesn’t care to listen to, sits Ludwig’s own soulmate, a lad named Feliciano Vargas, twin brother to Lovino and the happy, scatter-brained soulmate to one Ludwig Beilschmidt.

The funniest thing, Arthur notes with a sort of vindictive pleasure, is that none of the assembled mass looks comfortable in their ugly sweaters, though Arthur has yet to find one as hideous as his own. Arthur can feel his urge to kill rising.

“See anything interesting?” A horribly familiar voice asked suddenly from Arthur’s right. Arthur, fighting back a surprised yelp and knowing that the pale-haired bastard would never let him live it down, turns and glares daggers at the smug-looking, self-proclaimed Prussian-

(“You know Prussia’s been dissolved, don’t you?”

“As long as Prussia lives in the heart of his people, the once beautiful nation will never be truly gone.”

“… They were dissolved after WWII.”

“Sshhhh, O Killer of dreams. You know what, why don’t you go kick a puppy or something. Would that be fun for you, you monster!”)

\--Arthur gets his breath back before responding. “You mean besides a bunch of people dressed in gaudy sweaters and praying that any pictures that will be taken tonight never see the light of day? And then an idiot? No, not really.”

Gilbert snorts and shakes his head, strands of silvery white hair falling into his face. He leans back against the wall next to Arthur and downs some more of his drink. Arthur’s almost positive that Gilbert’s drink is stronger than the horse piss that Francis had given him and, for that, Arthur glares harder at the smug bastard. Gilbert notices and his smirk grows even wider,

“I see the band finally fell off,” Gilbert notes whilst taking another sip of his drink. “Where is the sucker? Out studying for a test? You always did like the younger ones.”

“As if you have any room to talk,” Arthur retorts scathingly, wanting one of two things—either something stronger for his stomach or something heavy for Gilbert’s head. “How old was Matthew when you met him? Sixteen? Seventeen? Though I’m not much of an expert on Canadian laws, I’m nearly positive that the age where it stops being ‘indecent’ is the same for most of North America.”

Arthur watches with satisfaction as the tendon in Gilbert’s jaw twitches, telling Arthur that the fool is gritting his teeth very, very hard in an effort to not say something. Finally, though, he speaks, “Where is the brat anyways? Finally get sick of you?”

Arthur glances down at his beer can, tilting the can to and fro and watching as the liquid within the glass followed the motion. Finally, he decided to speak, “the Lad’s not available right now,” he answers honestly, though he knows it’s a cop-out. “He made plans before we got this lovely invitation.”

Gilbert snorts, “Convenient.”

The two stand there in relative silence, studying the party around them, Arthur silently wondering why Gilbert had gone out of his way to ensure that Arthur’s sweater was the most hideous. He glances over at Gilbert, his mouth open and ready to ask the question, before he catches a glimpse at an earring on the other man’s cartilage. It’s a nice one, he decides. The colour shows that it isn’t silver of any type and the metal wraps gracefully around the albino’s ear. There is some class to it, Arthur supposes, yet he can’t help but notice that in a certain light, the silver-haired singer looks years younger than his actual age.

“Did someone close Matthew die?” Arthur asks suddenly, not having the slightest clue where the question comes from and making no move to retract it. The surprise and then hesitation the glances across Gilbert’s visage is enough to tell Arthur that he did hit some weak spot. Gilbert studies him a moment longer, his eyes serious, before grabbing Arthur’s forearm and dragging him into the closest empty room which happens to be the kitchenette area. Arthur can see the two pitchers he and Francis had brought sitting atop the counter, next to brownies that Arthur hopes are not laced with anything.

When the two get settled, Gilbert drops Arthur’s arm and runs a hand through his hair, serious for the first time in ages. For some reason, Arthur’s mind chooses that moment to focus on the fact that, instead of an ugly Christmas sweater, Gilbert’s sweater is large, bright green sweater with a baby chick on the chest, the phrase, ‘Chick me out!” written above the feathery fowl.

“Okay, I was going to ask what the fuck you did when you two showed up, cause Birdie’s usually really friendly when it comes to strangers. Seriously, it’s actually kind of frightening and shit because—“

“Out with it, Gilbert!” Arthur snaps, already exhausted by the vocal waterfall that was Gilbert. Gilbert cleared his throat,

“Anyways, so when he came back and had hidden out in his room, I was like ‘the fuuuuck?’ and wanted to ask you or Frenchy what you did to make him so anti-social and now I’m guessing now I know. So, did you ask about a relative or something?”

Arthur straightens up and glances at Gilbert, waiting on bated breath for a reply. When Arthur nods, Gilbert’s face darkens, “so, when I met Birdie he was seventeen. And what was this stubborn as hell seventeen year-old doing? Looking for his younger brother. See, the two were separated after their parents had died. One stayed down in the States while the other one was adopted by a family up in Canadia. So, me being me, I used my awesome connections to help Birdie out because, you know, Birdie is almost as cool as me. So, we searched and searched and my sources searched and searched and you know what we found?”

Still holding his breath, Arthur shakes his head, unconsciously leaning forward. Gilbert, his expression set in stone and his red eyes flinty, continues, “We found an obituary in the papers of Birdie’s little brother dating back to almost four years ago. That would place the kid’s death at around thirteen and fourteen. Birdie, not wanting to consider that his kid brother had died at the age of fourteen, did some more searches. The same thing came up plus a certificate of death.”

Arthur feels as though something is caught in his throat and he shakes his head, not wanting to hear anymore. For once, Gilbert obliges, still looking uncharacteristically serious. He can almost see a part of Ludwig in Gilbert.

“Poor kid was nearly inconsolable. Birdie’s eighteen now, turned eighteen back in July. He’s moving forward and shit and the last thing he needs is to hear about his little brother, especially from weirdoes that he doesn’t know.”

For once, Arthur ignores the insults thrown his way and winces, considering just what he would feel in Matthew’s place. Arthur has a feeling that he’ll be doing some apologising later.

“ _Verddammt!_ ” Gilbert calls suddenly, startling Arthur out of his thoughts. Arthur spins on his heels and sees a cat, a sleek, black cat atop the counter, smelling the pitchers that Arthur and Francis brought over. However, at Gilbert’s exclamation, the cat spins and arches its back, its keen gaze locked on Gilbert’s furious one, “ _Nein!_ Get off of there you _blödmann!”_ Gilbert orders, stepping forward and waving his arms around in an effort to scare the poor beast away.

It works, though, and the cat hisses once more before turning tail and running away, probably into one of the main rooms. Arthur raises an eyebrow and the glowering Gilbert.

“I’ve never taken you as a cat-type of person,” Arthur comments. Gilbert snorts and turns and walks back to Arthur, glaring at the spot where the cat had just disappeared to. “I’m not,” he mutters darkly. “That’s Birdie’s cat, Salem. The two have been together longer than we have and he wanted to bring the cat with us.”

“Matthew’s not staying here, is he?” Arthur asks. Gilbert shakes his head.

“ _Nein_. He’s only here for the holiday and, when it’s over, he’s likely to go back to Canada for training. I’m just here because I had a show a couple nights ago and wanted to relax and Birdie’s hanging with me. Speaking of living,” Gilbert adds suddenly, looking somewhat sheepish. Arthur stifles a groan, not liking where this might be going. “I, err, kind of lost your address and—“

“You want me to write it down again, don’t you?” Arthur demands flatly as Gilbert reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a pen and some paper. “Bloody hell, Gilbert, we’ve been living in the same place for over six months!”

“Speaking of, how’s the restaurant going?” Gilbert asks as Arthur walks over to the counter to begin writing. Arthur pauses and glances up,

“Well enough, I suppose. Francis’ father offered to look after the restaurant for as long as he needed to be away.” Arthur finishes the address and slides it towards Gilbert, his bushy brow raised. “Don’t lose this again, prat.”

Gilbert snorts and snatches the bit of paper up and reads over it. He nods and places it on the counter. When Arthur again raises an eyebrow, Gilbert snorts, “It’s in the kitchen. I come in here for food. I eat a lot. I won’t lose this in here.”

The argument is somewhat sound and Arthur just goes with it, though he has a feeling that he’ll need to write it down again later. Before he can say such a thing, Francis enters the kitchen, looking less than steady on his feet,

“ _Mon amis_!” He calls, throwing his hands in the air. He stumbles closer and throws one arm over both Gilbert and Arthur’s shoulders. Arthur can smell the alcohol on him. “I believe it is time that we were introduced to your _beau_ , _oui_?”

Gilbert snorts and shoves Francis off, causing the slightly taller blonde to fall heavily onto Arthur, “How drunk are you Franny? You met him earlier!”

“Francis,” Arthur sighs but, before he can say anything else, Francis straightens up, somewhat crookedly and begins sauntering out of the room with a cry of, “I will find your _cher_ , Mathieu! I wish to meet the boy who has heart my best friend’s stolen!”

With that nearly unintelligible statement, Francis stumbles out, earning a confused look from Arthur and a bemused look from Gilbert.

“I… don’t understand...” Arthur begins slowly. Gilbert snorts and walks over to the counter, where sit the two pitchers that Francis and Arthur had made. Arthur has little to no idea which pitcher is which and he honestly doesn’t feel the need to stop Gilbert. Anything to get back at the bastard for these horrible sweaters.

“Birdie’s always been like that,” Gilbert says as he studies the two pitchers. Finally, he shrugs and places one back on the counter. He takes the one in his hand and turns to Arthur, “don’t know what it is, but sometimes people completely forget about him! Pft! As if he’s forgettable!”

Arthur frowns and glances over his shoulder, half expecting Francis to come tripping back into the room. “He’s been acting strange for a while now,” Arthur comments quietly, more to himself than Gilbert. It’s a surprise, then, when Gilbert asks,

“Different? How so?” Arthur jumps at the voice but shakes his head,

“I dunno. Sometimes it seems like he’s forgot about our soulmate. But he can’t have,” Arthur argues, now more to himself than Gilbert. “He saw hundreds of people daily and he could still remember them.”

“Spooky,” Gilbert drawls out. Arthur glances up and glares at the albino, whose now smirking at Arthur. Holding the pitcher in his hand, Gilbert motions for Arthur to follow him. The two leave the kitchen and enter the main room, where everyone—drunk and sober—are sitting, even quiet Matthew.

Gilbert notices this and practically darts over to where Matthew’s leaning against the wall while Arthur saunters to where Francis is grinning quite madly on the sofa next to a wary-looking Yao.

“Gentlemen!” He declares, pointedly ignoring the dark ‘fuck you’ from Elizabeta. “ _Danke_ all for coming to the party and meeting my Birdie—“

“Matthew,” said boy corrects with an amused roll of his eyes.

“I would like to make a toast,” Gilbert continues as he wraps an arm around Matthew’s shoulder. Matthew rolls his eyes, “But, in order to do it correctly, you lot need a drink!”

A few minutes later, every member of the party has some of Francis’ homemade wine and are all sitting or standing around the couple. Gilbert raises his glass (which is actually a red solo cup, the git) and begins, “Birdie, Matthew I have never in my life been so grateful for another person. You are truly awesome and definitely as awesome, if not more so—“

(Cue a round a loud gasps, quickly followed by a loud, “Shut-up!”)

\--“Than me. This Matthew,” he raises the cup and everyone follow suit, “is for you.”

With that, everyone takes a large sip of their drink. It takes a moment for the strange tasting liquid to settle before everyone starts coughing, Arthur included. It takes almost an entire five minutes before Arthur feels his head begin to spin, his stomach start to turn on himself, a strange flash of silver to flicker out of the corner of his eyes, and then for everything to go black.

…

Arthur doesn’t know how long he’s out, just that when he finally comes to, he feels as though something very, very heavy was thrown over him. Arthur barely remembers what happened the night before—and he knows it is the day after: he can feel the sunlight trickling in through the blinds—save for an unsettling feeling. Arthur groans and curls closer into himself, only pausing when he feels as though his nose has brushed something soft.

Very, very slowly he opens his eyes—barely a crack at first but wider and wider as he begins to grow accustomed to the light outside.

The first thing he notices is that, for some reason, everything seems bigger than the night before. Another thing he notices is that something smells absolutely terrible. Then after that, he can people outside the door speaking too quickly in a language that he doesn’t know.

Then he notices the cats everywhere.

He makes to stand up, to see where everyone is, but somehow his momentum throws him forward, onto the ground. He falls on his face and something falls atop him. He struggles for a moment before finally managing to kick off the offending… whatever it is. When he finally does, he casts the thing a furious glare. However, the glare vanishes when something on the sweater—the material was easy enough to spot—catches his attention. In bright, alternating red and yellow colours reads the phrase, ‘Fruitcake.’ Arthur winces and glances down, hoping beyond hope that he isn’t naked.

His eyes meet with a far more worrying and confusing sight: fur. His gaze focuses on a patch of white fur that Arthur is positive wasn’t there last night. Thinking the entire thing is nothing more than a dream, Arthur darts past all the other fallen cats and attempts to find a mirror. He stops in front of a door, partially opened and slips in. He sees a bed up against the far wall, a window above it, and on the far right, adjacent to the bed, is another room. A room where Arthur hopes rests a mirror.

He enters the room and, thankfully, recognises all the furnishings that belie a bathroom. Remembering a video of a cat doing this, Arthur crouches low on his hunches, his body taut and prepared to leap forward. He lunges up, claws extended to give him extra grip…

… And he completely misjudges his own strength. He flies forward, not even touching the marble surface of the bathroom counter, and falls against the large mirror. He stumbles backward, trying to regain his balance and coordination and rubs his head. He shakes himself off and stumbles closer to the mirror, trying to get a clear view of the reflection staring back at him in the mostly dark room.

He sees a small, orange and white cat staring back at him.

Very slowly, he raises one hand—paw and the refection mimics him. He lowers that limb. Again, he raises his back leg. The reflection mirrors him. He lowers that limb. He rises until he’s standing on his back legs and nothing else. His reflection mirrors him. He falls down onto his front legs.

Arthur stares at his reflection, wide-eyed and shocked before, unbidden, a scream escapes him. The sound coming out as a high-pitched cat wail.

His reflection mirrors him.

…

Arthur, having returned to his seat on the sofa, sways back and forth, watching the chaotic cacophony play out around him.

Beside him, an extremely fluffy, long haired cat the he assumes is Francis is wailing again and again, walking from one end of a sofa cushion to the other and rubbing his head against the arm of the seat; on the ground, a black-haired—furred cat chasing after a smaller, fluffier cat with brown and white fur. Running after the black cat is another fluffy, white and browned-furred cat, though his brown spots are a lighter shade. Chasing after the other three cats is a lithe cat with darker tanned fur and black spots.

Near the sofa, on a single seater, are two cats, a black and white cat, curled around a smaller cat with large brown spots all over their body and a ring-like pattern over their tale. All visible fur that isn’t brown is fluffy and beige.

Seated on the same sofa as him and Francis but on the opposite side, Arthur spots an all-black cat with a curious band of fur at its neck.

Finally, there sit two cats in the corner, one—a more lithe cat, practically all skin and bones and pure white—stands protectively over a smaller, fluffier cat with tan fur and a strange bunch of white fur around his neck, as though he were wearing a scarf. Curled at his side is a large, fluffy tale with a white bit at the end of his tale, as though someone had dipped it in white paint. His strange eyes are wide and unblinking.

Finally, the black cat seems to lose his patience and stops chasing the fluffy cat with a huff. He turns and crouches in front of the coffee table before gracefully—or far more gracefully than Arthur earlier—leaping onto the table and sitting down.

“ENOUGH!” He bellows, the noise sounding far louder on their more sensitive ears. Arthur, along with a few other people—cats— _things_ , winces and crouches down on their hunches. The black cat glares at them all one last time, making sure that they are all paying attention, “Identify yourselves,” he calls as though he’s a general in the army. When no one immediately answers, he rolls his eyes, “I am Ludwig,” he tells them, his chest puffed out proudly. The pure white cat then leaps forward, though he makes sure not to travel too far away from the traumatised white cat,

“Ello, all! I’m the awesome Gilbert and this,” he gently pats the fluffier cat with his paw, “This is Birdie!” Matthew doesn’t make any move to respond and Arthur swears that he hasn’t blinked once since they all woke and discovered, well, this.

On the smaller single seater, the two cats lift their heads and Arthur can’t help but see them as royalty with the imperious way they hold their heads. The smaller, beige cat sits up straighter, their own chest puffed out proudly, “Elizabeta and,” she waves her hand—paw in front of the other cat, “Roderich.”

“I am Feli!” Cries an excited, somewhat airy voice. The small, fluffy, white and browned spotted cat attempts to jump up next to Ludwig on the table. Somehow, the cat misses and is left with both front paws clinging to the edge of the table and both back legs swinging back and forth in midair. Ludwig roll his eyes but attempts to help Feliciano up with his own front paws. Finally, after a great struggle, Ludwig manages to drag Feliciano onto the table. Feliciano sits contently next to a wary-looking Ludwig, swaying back and forth and humming something under his breath.

The other small and fluffy cat that looks almost identical to Feliciano but with lighter fur glares up and Ludwig, “Potato bastard,” he growls pleasantly and Arthur knows, before he grudgingly growls out ‘Lovino,’ who he is. Behind Lovino is another blissfully happy-looking cat with the tanned skin and dark spots,

“Antonio!” He singsongs, bounding up next to Lovino and curling around him. Arthur finally musters the courage to speak,

“Arthur,” he calls and then glances over at Francis who is still pacing frantically, “Francis.”

They all turn to the black cat with the strange tuft of fur and he stares coolly back. “If you have not figured it out yet, then our future is in grave danger,” the black cat tells them seriously. He curls into the very far corner of the sofa and rests his head on his paws. His eyes never leave the group.

Arthur can see the expression on Ludwig’s face and knows that he’s about to start screaming. However, Arthur is distracted by another brief flash of silver out the window. Given that it appears to be either late in the morning or early in the afternoon, Arthur knows that that light should not be that bright.

Ignoring those around him, Arthur manages to clamber off of the sofa, still ignoring Francis’ pathetic whining, and practically darts towards the window. He crouches down on his hunches, hoping that this time he’ll get the momentum and everything else right, and leaps. Thankfully, he successfully manages to find a grip on the window’s ledge and pulls himself. He glances out the window, sees his own reflection staring back at him. For a moment, a very brief moment, Arthur leans his forehead against the glass, thinking that maybe everything is in his imagination and that perhaps Alfred and his ridiculous cry of ‘it was the vampires!’ had somehow rubbed off on his mind and maybe—

 Arthur’s head snaps up as soon as the flash of silver returns and he stares out the window in shocked astonishment: staring back at him a what appears to be a ghostly figure, though instead of opaque, the beast is surrounded by a strange, silvery-blue light, something that seems almost ethereal. For a mere moment, Arthur only sees a figureless cloud. Then, as he stares longer at it, the cloud’s form changes from a cloud, to a luminescent-looking fox. Arthur can barely see any details in the face and body, but the lithe form is most definitely that of a fox. Arthur doesn’t let the figure leave his sight,

“Please,” he mutters, not having the slightest clue why he feels that talking to it will do any good. They’re all cats. It’s not as though he has anything left to lose. “Please help us.”

The heavenly-looking fox studies him for a second, no expression in its face—though its head is pointed in his direction and all Arthur can think of is, of course its studying him!—before it curls in midair and vanishes from sight. Arthur hadn’t realised how much of the light around him had come from the fox, as things dim considerably. Behind him, he can hear the beginnings of an argument.

Arthur sighs and leans his head back against the glass pane. It’s only then that Arthur remembers that, in the complex, there are nearly fifty floors and that Gilbert’s flat is very near to the top.

 

 


	3. Ta-Da!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cats are rescued, there's a crash course in history, and Arthur's found a new favorite hiding spot!

It’s been almost three days. Arthur can’t remember the last time any of them have eaten: Ludwig had attempted to open the refrigerator and practically every cabinet but, as he was very confused on how his own body worked, his efforts proved in vain.

After that, Elizabeta and Yao had tried their hands—err, paws at hunting. Again, given that they were on floor 47 out of 50 that had been another failed experiment.

Around the day two mark or very, very late in the night for day one, Matthew had finally informed them, very reluctantly, about his secret stash of sweets. The stash hadn’t lasted a day and Arthur learned that he loved Hershey’s more than what was probably natural.

As drinks, the cats had all stalwartly avoided the pitcher that had fallen and spilled all over the carpet—

(“ _Verdammt_! They’re going to make me pay for that!”

“You buy a new car when your other one has a stain. I think you’ll be fine.”)

And had all crowded around in the kitchen below the counter where sat the other pitcher. Arthur had decided— _been voted, the bastards_ —to be the one to allow the pitcher to topple over, thus creating a heavenly, cascading stream of wine (Arthur would never mention how amusing the sight of all the cats forming a semi-circle in front of the counter and staring up at him as though he were God was). Unfortunately, it hadn’t turned out as graceful. The pitcher had made it extremely difficult to throw off its balance and when Arthur did finally manage to topple it, it landed perfectly on the lid. Every single cat had stared at the devil pitcher in full silence for a whole minute before Feliciano had given a ‘Veee~’ and tackled the pitcher, throwing it on its side and causing the liquid to explode from its container. Every single cat, save for Arthur who sat above them, ended that day extremely sticky and feeling dirty after having to lick that homemade wine up off of the ground.

Arthur is positive that, if not for Salem, they all would have no doubt starved.

The black, sassy cat had a soft spot for Matthew so when he had kindly asked her for help (after, of course, she had stopped doing a happy dance now that Matthew could understand her) she almost immediately obliged and wound up vanishing for the rest of the day. When she returned that night, lugging around a very small plastic baggy partially filled with food, Salem had been tackled by at least three different cats with their thanks.

It was halfway through finishing the contents of the bag that Ludwig had realised that they should have rationed the food. Every single cat in question had vetoed that and had eaten their fill.

Now, on day three, late in the afternoon, Arthur feels very, very regretful of the idea. Around them, every single former human is curled up in a ball, some in groups of two and threes, and just staying ominously quiet. Arthur can hear the sounds of honking and yelling in the world below them. At his side, Francis is warm and there, in the same place that they’ve been for hours. Atop the table, Salem is cleaning herself. From somewhere in one of the corners, Feliciano gives a small wail. Salem pauses for a moment before returning to her bath.

“Vee~” Feliciano cried, “I’m huuungry.”

“You think you’re the only one?” His twin growls from his spot beneath the entertainment center, Antonio firmly at his side. “We’re all—“

“Lovinooo!” Feliciano wails again and Arthur can see that the smaller cat is frantically waving his tail back and forth. Next to him, Ludwig sighs and leans forward, brushing his head against Feliciano and licking his nose. The words he mutters are too low for Arthur to hear but a second later Feliciano releases a small whine before curling even more tightly into Ludwig’s side. Arthur watches somewhat sadly as the smaller cat’s body begins to shake.

From his perch atop the entertainment center, Yao watches the sad sight and sighs, knowing that there’s a very little chance that anyone would willingly take his spot. He leaps down and trots to Feliciano and stops in front of the pair. Instead of hushing the small cat like Arthur assumes he would, Yao leans forward and rubs the smaller cat’s head against his own. When he finally stops, he turns and trots to Feliciano’s side. Surprising them all, Yao crouches low and then curls himself around Feliciano, almost protectively. No one knows what to make of it.

At his side, Francis, finally over his episode from few days ago, sighs, the action ruffling some of Arthur’s fur and causing the orange and white cat to glare at the fuzzy white one. “Did you ever think it would end like this, _mon amour_?” Francis asks quietly, his voice pitched low so that none of the others can hear it.

Arthur snorts and shakes his furry head, “Yes, I planned all of this. Everything is just how I imagined it,” Arthur answers, his voice deadpanned. Finally, he sighs and curls up even tighter, burying his face against Francis’ neck. “I wish we could have at least found Alfred and apologised, just once.”

With that, he allows himself to fall asleep, his mind slowly traveling to worlds beyond this one. He’s so far gone in his dreamland that he doesn’t even notice Francis’ utterance of, “who?”

…

When Arthur finally wakes up, everything is dark. He hasn’t the slightest idea what it is that woke him up. Around him, every cat is sleeping. He glances over to where Feliciano and Ludwig still are and spots Yao still curled up around the smaller feline protectively. Arthur shakes his head and curls back into Francis, about to fall asleep, when he hears something.

A small, silent exchange from outside the door.

This, Arthur had learned on day one, means nothing. More often than naught, the voices had belonged to Gilbert’s neighbours and would quickly fade almost as soon as they were heard. These voices, however, don’t seem to be fading, but getting closer.

Arthur stiffens for a second, about to wake everyone up with a violent hiss to alert them to intruders, when one of the voices right outside the door finally speaks up,

“You sure this is the right room?” The familiar voice and words and accent floors Arthur and he sits up quickly enough that he might have woken Francis and definitely loud enough that he’s woken a few other people. The voice continues, “They have cameras so I can’t really—“

“Allow me,” drawls another familiar female voice and Arthur can’t find it in himself to hate it. Around him, the other cats are beginning to wake up, each one having heard the voices. At his side, Francis is slowly waking and then begins to straighten up. Every single cat is now awake and frozen in spot. However, when they hear the tell-tale ‘click’ of a door being unlocked, every single cat scrambles to their feet, wanting to get a glimpse of the people that are either trying to rob them or help them. Arthur, and by default Francis, head the small herd of cats.

They all race to the front door, skidding to a full stop when two people—two very _, very_ familiar people—enter the flat. Arthur feels his eyes water as he takes in Alfred, who stands even taller than before. Much like before, both are decked out in black from their trousers to their shirts and from their sweaters to their trainers.

Much like before, Alfred still manages to be a beacon of light.

The two barely glance at the cats, save for Kai’s dry comment of, “Behold! The crazy cat lady starter pack!”

Alfred doesn’t answer as he walks deeper into the flat, a messenger bag slug casually over his shoulder, looking more like a Uni student than someone who would willingly break into a Flat. He calls over his shoulder,

“I’m gonna do a run through of the rooms.”

Kai nods as she continues to glance around the room, her gaze falling on the entrance to the kitchenette area. She calls back, “Do so. Remember, keep the weapon on hand. We don’t know what’s in here.”

“Noted.” Alfred calls back. While Alfred had vanished, Kai easily walks through the living room to the kitchenette area. Arthur stares off at the two in confusion. ‘Run through’? ‘Weapon’? What do they think is in here? Arthur frowns and glances between where Alfred had vanished and where Kai now stands in the Kitchenette.

He turns tale and darts to where Alfred had disappeared to, surprised when he sees Matthew at his heels.

The two find themselves standing in the doorway of the one bedroom, watching as Alfred carefully examines everything. Arthur can’t take his eyes off of the boy. When he straightens, he stands proudly, nothing like that hunching boy they had eaten McDonald’s with. Alfred leans over the bed and Arthur notes the awkward way that he holds himself. It isn’t until he leans forward in front of the window, the moonlight streaming in through the curtains, that Arthur notices something winking in the moonlight. It takes him a second to realise what it is and Kai’s words from earlier register.

Arthur stills, not entirely sure what’s going on, when Matthew—again, much to Arthur’s surprise—enters the room, practically darting up to Alfred’s side, and begins to claw on the boy’s trousers, trying to get his attention. It works and Alfred crouches down on his heels. Arthur, wanting to take advantage of seeing his soulmate at a closer range, darts forward and stops beside Matthew.

Matthew has both front paws resting on Alfred’s knee as begins making strangely heartbreaking noises. Alfred, the moonlight reflecting off of the glass planes of his glasses, is eyeing Matthew in confusion, though that doesn’t stop him from allowing Matthew to brush his head against Alfred’s outstretched palm. Arthur, feeling somewhat jealous, mimics Matthew’s actions and places his front paws on Alfred’s other knee. Alfred frowns at him as well, the expression both humourous and endearing. Arthur doesn’t miss the fact that he still has a weapon in his hand.

Then the prat decides to straighten up, stealing Arthur and Matthew’s reunion. He begins to walk away, towards the bathroom when Matthew breaks lose one of the loudest wails he’s ever heard any feline make. The noise causes Alfred to spin on his heel, whispering fervent, hurried exclamations of, “ _Sssssh_. Okay? Ssssh. Everything’ll be fine just—“

Matthew doesn’t stop until Alfred, finally losing his patience, bends over and picks Matthew up, cradling him in his arms, the position looking very comfortable to Arthur. Arthur, his jealousy growing, decides to mimic Matthew’s actions and releases a wail that can probably be heard from two floors down. Arthur doesn’t stop. Like with Matthew, Alfred tries to hurriedly shush him. Arthur’s having none of that. He howls until Alfred finally bends over and plucks him up as well, safely placing the weapon in a sheath that Arthur can only assume is somewhere on his person.  

In that action, Arthur learns three things. One: his soulmate is like a bloody heat lamp. Two: the material of Alfred’s sweater is very soft and very comfortable and wow, Arthur would honestly not mind falling asleep on this. And three: that his soulmate works out. A lot. Arthur can feel the muscle of his forearm through the sweater. Both Matthew and Arthur fall silent almost instantly.

Alfred stares at the two with an adorably frazzled expression, his hair falling around his face. Alfred continues to stare at the two until Arthur finally lets his gaze fall to the bathroom, his expression saying, ‘Didn’t you need to go in there?’

Alfred shakes his head and huffs out a half amused, half exasperated huff, “I swear to God, cats are the weirdest thing…”

Alfred continues to mutter obscenities under his breath about cats but neither feline take it personally. Arthur glances over at Matthew to find the Canadian’s face buried in Alfred shoulder. He doesn’t move and the one time Alfred accidently dislodges the lightly tanned cat from his shoulder, he curls back against it almost immediately, using his claws this time to keep a firm grasp.

Finally, Alfred sighs and glances between the cats, his expression still that adorably frazzled look. When he slowly lowers himself to his knees, with both Matthew and Arthur knowing exactly what he’s planning on doing, the two cats give synchronised wails that practically fill the room. Alfred straightens up almost instantly and both cats quiet down.

He stares from one cat to the other, his hair a tangled, adorable mess and his eyes wide behind his glasses,

“Come on, you guys,” he tells them and Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, wanting the voice to just wash over him. He leans forward, his forehead against Alfred’s shoulder. Alfred sighs, the action warming both cats and making their fur stand on end. “I need to be able to get my…” Alfred trails off slowly and both cats look up as they here the sudden change in Alfred’s voice. Alfred eyes them both curiously, a small fire glowing in his eyes and Arthur finds himself both curious and nervous.

Before either of them can do anything, Arthur finds himself in the palm of his soulmate’s hand (the boy has very large hands…) and being airlifted behind Alfred. Before he can say or do anything, Arthur finds himself cocooned on the soft material of Alfred sweater. The hood, to be precise.

Arthur decides he likes this arrangement.

A breath later, Matthew is carefully balanced on Alfred’s shoulders, both of the lad’s hands bracing the cat and making sure that his paws are well-balanced and that he doesn’t fall off. Arthur watches as Matthew crouches low on Alfred’s shoulder, making it harder for him to be knocked off. Arthur, watching as Alfred’s hair swings back and forth with his steps, manages to push himself up so that his front paws are resting against the area between the boy’s shoulder blades, and pulls himself up enough that the golden-spun hair brushes against Arthur’s nose.

 _Sooo fucking soft_ ….

Alfred finally walks out of the room, both passengers well-placed, and finds himself studying the apartment around him. God, what he wouldn’t give to live in a place like this.

Shaking those thoughts away, Alfred makes sure to take even steps so as not to dislodge the loud passengers. Seriously, though, what the hell was that back there?! They’d sounded like they were being tortured! Alfred sighs and shakes his head, fighting the urge to run a hand through his hair, knowing that the action would increase the chances of the cat on his shoulder falling.

When he finally reaches the kitchen, He finds Kai in about the same predicament as him: cradled against her forearm is a content small brown and white cat with some strange curl. Granted, Alfred doesn’t have any room to talk but still…

Seated around her in an orderly semicircle are the rest of the cats. They all look up when he enters. He glances at Kai and smiles wryly. They all glance back at her.

“Nothing, I’m guessing.”

Kai grins ruefully and shakes her head, reaching behind her and grabbing something. Alfred eyes her curiously as she brings forward a small handful of cubed cheese. The cat in her arms eats it with gusto and begins to purr. Alfred grins and leans back against the nearby counter. On his shoulder, the larger cat leans forward, its claws digging into Alfred’s shoulders. Alfred winces at the motion and the feeling instantly retracts. The cat then brushes his head against Alfred’s cheek, as though apologizing for causing him injury. He can feel the smaller cat curling into a ball in the hood of his sweater.

Kai continues to hand feed the cat until its purring is the loudest thing in the kitchen. Eyeing it with amusement, she crouches down to lower it to the ground where it sits contently while a larger black cat plops himself beside him and begins cleaning him. Alfred doesn’t think he’s ever seen a happier feline.

Just as she releases that cat, another darts into her grasp and begins to yowl. This cat looks a lot like the last one, down to the strange little curl. Kai rolls her eyes but straightens up and leans back against the counter, her stance the same as before. Again, she reaches behind her to get some cheese and then holds out her finger, letting the cat eat it. Alfred laughs when he sees how every single cat watches her every move. He’s beginning to understand why people spend hours watching cat videos on youtube. Finally, though, Kai shakes her head,

“I found a slip of paper on the counter over there,” she tells them, pointing with her finger and then laughing when the cat begins to growl. “Anything look familiar?”

Alfred glances over his shoulder, his motions slow and calculated so as not to knock the cat down and let those tortured wails fill the air. He turns slowly and sees something white against the rich marble counter. Written on the page is a very, very familiar address.

Alfred clears his throat and feels his heart constrict, knowing exactly what and who the address will lead to but not knowing why. The conundrum is enough to give him a headache. Instead, Alfred sighs and shoves the paper into one of his pockets, ignoring both cats hitching a ride on his person.

When he looks back up, Kai is studying him through serious gold eyes.

“What do you think?”

“What am I supposed to think?”

Kai sighs and shakes her head, shifting the cat in her arm but allowing it to keep eating, “look, you told me to make sure the Guardian was watching them—and she was!—and then suddenly they disappear. I don’t know where, the Guardian doesn’t either, and here we are. Okay? I don’t know what to do from here.”

“Didn’t she tell you something, though?” Alfred demands, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. “Come on, she had to have seen something! People don’t just disappear like that and—“

“What do you want me to do, Alfred, huh?” Kai demands, shooting him an unimpressed look. “All I know is all she saw. She sensed magic. So there was magic. She sensed something. So there was something. I can’t piece the jigsaw puzzle together without some kind of help though!”

“Then try a tracking spell!” Alfred argues, staring at Kai in disbelief. She stares back at him with the same expression, neither aware that all the cats are staring at them.

“It isn’t that simple, Alfred,” Kai snaps back as she pushes herself off of the counter and places the cat back in the group. Surprisingly enough, the cat doesn’t make a sound. Kai glares at him and crosses her arms over her chest. Alfred straightens up and mirrors her action. “It isn’t, alright? Not only do I need something that belongs to them, I also need the spell they used to disappear! I can’t just make something up and hope that it fits the situation! Do you know how dangerous that is?”

“And so is them vanishing without a trace!” Alfred argues. Kai throws her hands into the air, calling him something insulting in Italian. Alfred just glares at her. Finally, though, her anger subsides and she shakes hers head, looking tired.

“Look, let’s follow the address, get to their apartment and then work from there, okay? I can’t do anything here because I don’t know the people that live here.”

Alfred, seeing the sense in the plan, nods and glances around the kitchen one more time. Finally, he sighs, “fair enough,” he says, feeling tired. “Let’s drop these cats off at a neighbor’s or something and then—“

Alfred doesn’t even finish that thought before everything is thrown into a baying of cats. Every single cat in the room seems to want to say something and even the cats on Alfred’s person are adding their voices to the clamor. Finally Kai, growing very, very annoyed, bites down on her lower lip and releases a piercing whistle that can probably be heard a few floors down. Alfred winces at the sound as it shreds through his ears. He has little doubt that the apartment will get a noise complaint later. Kai shoots him an apologetic look before crossing her arms and leaning back against the counter.

“Okay,” she mutters, leaning forward and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Condemning some poor old neighbor to this fucking herd is a huge no. what about an animal shelter?”

“No,” Alfred says before the chorus of the damned can start up again. He wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Not a pound.”

Kai snickers and crouches down, picking up a completely black cat with a weird fringe on the back of its neck, “I swear, you and your furry little problem pick the weirdest times to surface.”

“I hope you know you’re not nearly as funny as you think you are,” Alfred informs her, deadpan, as the cat on his shoulder begins to rub against his neck. Alfred scratches behind its ear to get it to stop.

Kai shrugs, but starts to feed the cat some cheese from earlier, “even if that’s the case I’m still pretty damn funny.”

Alfred snorts pointedly and Kai glares at him, reaching behind her and grabbing a piece of bread. She then proceeds to chuck at him. Hard. Alfred manages to dodge the dangerous projectile with a laugh. The piece of bread bounces off the counter and lands on the floor.

“Alfred,” Kai says suddenly, her voice sharp, “Grab the bread. Now.”

Almost unconsciously, Alfred obliges and snatches up the bread before the hoard of cats can recreate the _Hunger Games_. Alfred then tears off a bit of bread and feeds it to his fuzzy passenger. When he eats it, he tears of another chunk and feeds this one to the other passenger in his hood. He feels the sandpaper tongue against his hand and nearly snatches the hand back. He does retract it, though, when the cat is finished. He looks down and sees that he’s gained his own little groupies.

Two white cats, one extremely hairy with bright blue eyes and the other thin and wiry with red eyes. Alfred stares at the red-eyed one a moment longer before glancing up at Kai, who’s still feeding the black cat. “Err… Kai?”

“The red-eyed one’s kind of friendly,” she tells him, not looking up.

“’Kind of’?” Alfred demands as the two cats start brushing against the legs of his pants. Alfred feels like he’s being thrown to the sharks.

“Just give them food and you’ll make it out alive,” Kai tells him while smiling in a somewhat ominous way. Alfred flashes her a panicked look but feeds them both. They continue to rub against his leg. Finally, Kai sighs, “We can’t leave them here. That’s on par with animal abuse.”

“What if we sent them free?” Alfred asks, still eyeing the two cats circling him.

“They’re not lions, Al, you can’t just let’em free.”

“Well, then, what do you suggest?”

Kai finally looks up and the two just stare at each other, Alfred finally shakes his head, “No.” he tells her flatly, without any inflection. “We are not taking them with us.”

“Think about it, Alfred,” Kai begins, shifting the black cat in her arms and letting it down on the ground. It stares at her for a moment before gently butting its head against her leg. She then reaches for the other black cat who looks really, really uncomfortable. He takes the food, though, with a quiet grace. “You said no to pound. We can’t leave them here. The neighbors haven’t done anything to deserve having a hoard of screaming little banshees. And we have almost no other ideas save for this one.”

“Kai,” Alfred begins slowly, leaning forward and nearly uprooting the cat on his shoulder. Alfred steadies it and then turns back to Kai. “We need to get to their apartment and make sure they’re okay. If not, we need to get something of theirs so that you can do one of your spells. We do not have the time or the resources to take care of…” Alfred trails off and begins counting the cats. “Ten or so cats. That’s a huge no-no.”

“Do you have any better ideas?” Kai demands. When Alfred doesn’t immediately answer, Kai softens her voice. “Look, there’s a safe house in Eugene. We can go there and let the cats wander. The people will feed them and take care of them. Not only that, but Madam Devoroux said that there are some books there that can help us. If all else fails then we can go back to New Orleans and ask Madam Devoroux for help, okay?”

“We need to find them now!” Alfred argues as the cat on his shoulder continues nuzzle his cheek. Alfred sighs, not liking the attention and grabs the cat. He holds it at arm’s length and stares at it. The cat stares back, its strangely purple eyes almost sad. Having never been given puppy-dog eyes from a cat, Alfred shakes his head and returns it to its former spot on his shoulder. “We don’t know where they are and for all we know they could have been kidnapped and-and—“

“The Guild doesn’t care about some humans, Alfred,” Kai retorts, shifting the black cat in her arms. “And—“

“I’m not worried about the Guild, Kai,” Alfred snaps. “They’re a bunch of pretentious assholes, yeah, but they have their rules. I’m more worried about that new group, The Silver Bullet.”

“They’re a fanatical group.” Kai argues. “Nothing more, nothing less. They’re just a bunch of normal-ass people trying to make it big in a world they know nothing about. They’re harmless.”

“But what if they stopped being harmless and—“

“Do you really think a holier-than-thou wannabe group is gonna give two fucks about two random half-nothings?” Kai demands. Alfred winces slightly at the word, but he knows that there is some truth to it.

At his feet, the lithe white cat had stopped pacing and is staring up at Alfred with the same unfathomable red eyes. Alfred forces his gaze away and studies her, his expression flat before he finally sighs and shakes his head,

“Yeah,” he mutters under his breath, “Hurray for another long car ride!”

“Dude, it can’t be as bad as this last one,” Kai retorts flatly as she pushes herself off of the counter and finally lowers the black cat to the floor. She suddenly snaps her fingers and turns to Alfred, “Yo, give me the bag.”

Alfred blinks but slowly lifts the bag over his shoulder before tossing it to her. Kai catches it easily and begins rummaging through the cabinets and the fridge.

“Uhh, Kai? Isn’t this on par with stealing?”

Kai snorts, head practically buried in the fridge, “Yeah, around the same place as breaking and entering.”

Alfred doesn’t respond save for rolling his eyes and studies the herd of cats at their feet. The one on his shoulder is beginning to feel really warm and the one in his hood is actually a really comfortable weight. He sighs. He has a feeling that the two have now made Alfred their permanent taxi service.

_Cats._

…

After nearly an hour of pilfering food from the apartment, Alfred, Kai, and their ten or so little tag-alongs finally climb into the old Ford, Kai snagging the driver’s seat and Alfred gratefully collapsing in the passenger seat. Still hitching a ride on his shoulder is the larger white cat and still somehow curled into a ball is the small orange and white… tabby? Do they even have a species or name for the cats?

“My knowledge of cats goes as far as black, white, orange, etcetera,” Kai tells him when he decides to voice the question. When Alfred snorts, Kai defensively demands, “Oh. I suppose you have their species down to a tee, right? Enlighten me, O great one.”

When Alfred refuses to answer, Kai snorts and starts the engine, the low hum of the vehicle coming to life managing to calm Alfred. But, then his eyes land on one of the cats and he’s reminded of the empty apartment where his soulmates were supposed to be and suddenly aren’t. He sighs and slouches in his seat, arms crossed and legs against the dashboard.

“Feet down!” Kai chimes from her spot as the two small, fluffy brown and white cats with the weird hairdo begin bouncing against her. Kai levels a curious stare at the two of them but doesn’t respond. The two human then watch as the lithe black cat grabs one of the smaller cats by the scruff of their neck and pulls him back. The other cat turns and practically tackles the larger black cat.

Kai stops her preparation of putting her seatbelt on in favor of making sure that the cats don’t kill each other. Alfred smirks and leans back but jumps when a loud squeak issues from the seat behind him. _Fuck_ , he knows this car is old but really? It’s making noise now—

Oh. Wait. The cat. 

Alfred winces and pulls the smaller cat out from his hoodie, the larger one having decided that it no longer wants to ride on his shoulder and then decides to curl up on his lap. The cat’s friend, the lithe white cat, decides to follow his lead and the two soon are wound together on his lap. In his hand, rubbing against his palm, the white and orange cat seems calmer than before. He’s kind of scared to put it down considering the literal outcry from earlier and the fact that they are all in a closed-in space. Despite their job, both are far too young to lose their hearing because a cat wants to throw a hissy fit.

Suddenly, though, the orange and white cat’s friend, the really hairy/fuzzy white one, leans up and licks the smaller cat in Alfred’s hands, thus gaining its attention. The two begin meowing and, thankfully, the smaller one jumps out of Alfred’s hands and onto the seat—

Only to curl up against his leg where follows the other cat. Alfred gives a small groan and throws his hands in the air,

“Why do you guys like me?”

“Cat logic,” Kai answers, seeming comfortable with her position with the irritable brown and white cat as well as the tanned and darker-spotted cat curled up in her lap. “They find the person that doesn’t want them and ignore the people that like them.”

Alfred snorts, “Sounds like a John Green book or something.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Alfred responds seriously before shaking his head and grinning. He leans back in his seat, feet still planted on the dash, and rests one of his arms against the door though he’s not entirely sure where to put the other one. His lap is full of furry… cats and at his side there are also furry cats. Alfred, resigned, folds the arm behind him, hooking around the headrest. When the Ford remains idle for long enough, Alfred turns to Kai whose staring at him expectantly,

“What?”

“Seatbelt,” she tells him and Alfred sees one of her damnable smiles slowly making its way on her face.

“Fuck you,” Alfred responds cheerfully, a smile growing on his own face. “All things considered, not wearing a seatbelt is hardly—“

“All things considered, if you do wear a seatbelt then dying in a car accident is one lesser way for you to die.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“Alfred. Fucking. Jones—“

“I always knew it was a mistake to tell you that middle part,” Alfred mumbles as he twists in his seat, looking for the stupid belt so that they can get moving already. Alfred ducks his head so that he can see the clicker, but he can hear Kai’s small laugh in response.

“And you still did.”

“Shut-up,” is Alfred’s only response. When he finally, successfully, manages to put the seatbelt in the clicker, he looks expectantly up at Kai, “Well? What are you waiting for? That glacier behind you to pas—ooh… too late.”

Kai snorts and against starts the car. This time, though, she manages to put it in drive.

…

Reaching the apartment complex brings about a strange sense of déjà vu over Alfred: for one thing, the last time he was here, he’d been yelled at by his soulmates and ordered off the premises and for another thing it had been over the summer. Alfred had been sixteen. Now, he’s seventeen.

Time sure does fly in hell.

Alfred shakes his head and unclicks his seatbelt at the same time that Kai twists the key in the ignition, turning the car off and throwing the two into silence. The cats, for once, all seem to understand the seriousness of the situation and all of them are quiet as well. Kai turns to him,

“Ready to get this over with?”

Alfred nods and begins removing the cats from his person. Thank God, they’re silent. “Hell, yeah.”

Kai nods and opens the door. Alfred makes to follow but is stopped by another loud cat meow. Alfred glares down at the two cats who are now leaning against him, their paws propped up on his thigh. Even in the dark, Alfred can recognize the orange/white cat, as well as the hairy white one. “No,” he tells them flatly as they stare up at him expectantly. “You two are not coming—“

He’s cut off by a loud knocking right next to him and he turns to see Kai standing outside his door, waiting. Alfred finds the window lever and mechanically begins to roll down the window. Kai still waits with her arms crossed over her chest. “Well? What, are you waiting for the grass to grow or something? What’s taking so long?”

“Twiddle-dee and Twiddle-dum,” he responds flatly. He yelps when one of the cats digs their claws into the fabric of his jeans. He glares down at them both, “I hate you both—“

“Bring your entourage then,” Kai answers flatly and when Alfred looks up, she’s pinching the bridge of her nose. “If you’re in such a hurry—“

“I’m not bringing them!” Alfred argues as one of the cats begins to meow. He shakes his head and turns to glare at the cats. “Look, you’re only going to get in the way and…” his voice trails off as both cats give him big, puppy-dog eyes and Alfred groans and looks at Kai. “Fine. You take one and put it in your hoodie, I’ll take the other one.” He turns to glare at his last passenger, the fuzzy tan one that’s curled up around the lithe white one. “What? You suddenly don’t want to come?”

The cat stares at Alfred through unblinking blue-purple eyes and Alfred’s frustration fades. He’s reminded of his brother and of how, no matter what, he could never truly be mad at his big brother. Alfred shakes those thoughts away, wanting to stay focused. He reaches for the fuzzy white cat and, despite its indignant protests, hands him to Kai. Kai places it in her hoodie and Alfred watches for a moment until the cat’s head pops up over Kai’s shoulder. The smaller one immediately climbs onto his shoulder and into his hood. He turns to the other cats, “Stay here,” he tells them seriously and wonders if he’s losing his mind.

Alfred watches as the lithe black cat sits up straight and points to him, “you’re in charge,” he tells it and swears that it sits up even straighter, “make sure no one steals my car.”

With that, Alfred opens the door and clambers out, the light weight of the cat behind him. He stops next to Kai and eyes her passenger, “You sure he’ll be fine?”

Kai snorts, “I’ve had to carry your fat ass before. Relax, blondie, fuzzy’s fine.”

Alfred nods, ignores the insult (he’ll just have to come up with a better one later), and the two begin their trek forward, glancing around them and studying their surroundings. Alfred’s hand is already inching towards his weapon and he notes that Kai’s hands are in the pocket of her hoodie, no doubt grasping her own weapon.

The parking lot that they’re parked in is full of shiny Beemers, Audis, Volvos, and so many other cars that Alfred would love to take a look at in other circumstances. Behind them, they hear something crash against a trashcan and Alfred’s hand wraps tightly around the hilt of his weapon. They both lengthen their footsteps.

“What’s it like being back?” Kai asks suddenly, conversationally. Like they’re not about to break into the home of his soulmates, the home where he was ordered out of. Alfred shrugs,

“I’m back sooner than I thought,” he tells her. The cats on their backs remain silent. “You think you can get us in like last time?”

Kai smiles that smile that’s both a promise and a threat and Alfred finds himself grateful that she’s on his side. The half witch/half Kitsune would make a fantastic Slytherin, Alfred’s told her more than once. Alfred has, and has been proven time and time again, little doubt that she can easily sneak/talk her way out of any situation.  

The two stop at the intersection and glance both way before crossing the street towards the apartment. Traffic’s still plenty heavy but even with both of their passengers, a quick jog across is completely fine and both stop in front of the double-doored entrance. Kai addresses the cats,

“Okay, I’m thinking ya’ll are somewhat intelligent so listen close: keep you heads down,” she emphasizes this with reaching forward and ducking the orange cat’s head until its head is well hidden. Alfred watches as the fuzzy cat reluctantly complies with only a few errant meows. “And keep quiet, dammit. We’re trying to sneak in.”

“Would’ve been easier of we’d left them in the car…” Alfred hums and then winces when he feels that cat in his hoody using him as a scratching posts. Alfred’s back arches and he hisses out a, ‘stoooop.’

The cats listen and, a moment later when they’re sure that neither cat will make a noise, open the front doors and enter. A blast of cold when hits them and Kai pulls her hoodie closer around herself, shivering.  The cats remain silent.

Kai cheerfully waltzes to the front counter, smiling. Alfred can’t say it to her now because of the desk worker, but he thinks that the smile is really cheesy-looking. He follows her anyways because, well, he’s the back up. Kai stops in front of the desk and leans forward, gaining the worker’s attention. Alfred watches as the man behind the counter studies Kai up and down before a slow smile spreads across his face.

“How can I help you?” He asks, practically purrs and Alfred is once again assaulted by that West Coast accent. Kai, though, smiles,

“I was wondering if you had any word on my brother?” Kai begins as she leans forward even more. Despite the fact that the man can’t see her legs, one of her ankles curls around the other, adding even more to the ‘sweet lil’ Annie’ façade. Alfred also has to hand it to her for the accent: he’s heard a lot of cheesy English (British?) accents in his time and this is probably one of the closest ones to the original thing. Well, to Arthur’s accent anyways. “See, I was s’posed to meet him but he refuses to answer his mobile. D’you think I could go up and check on him?”

The man hesitates a second and then glances over at Alfred questioningly. Kai frowns and turns to where he’s looking, catching sight of Alfred. She turns back to the man and shrugs, waving his concern off. “That’s my soulmate, Alfred. He and my brother don’t get on too well, despite Arthur promising mummy that he’d try his best, the bloody tick…” the final words are mumbled just loud enough for the man to hear, but quiet enough that it sounds real.

The man glances between the two and Alfred doesn’t miss the disappointed expression on the man’s face at the word ‘soulmate’. Deciding to help, Alfred walks over to Kai and drapes on arm over her shoulders. The man glances up at him and Alfred flashes him a smile and waves.

The man sighs, “I’m not normally supposed to,” the man tells them, his earlier exuberance gone. Kai smiles up at him.

“I understand,” she tells him. “Such an upstanding gentleman! Would it perhaps be better if I tried ringin’ him again?”

The man nods and Kai snatches out her phone and looks through her contacts. Alfred knows that she doesn’t have their number in her phone. He glances over her shoulder at the screen and grins when she lands on the ‘Ivan’ contact. They know that he never answers on the first ring. She presses the send button and places it to her ear. The ringing is loud enough, or the place is just quiet enough, that the noise reverberates off the surrounding walls. Finally, though, they make it to the generic ‘please leave a message’ answer and Kai grimaces.

“Bleeding ponce,” Kai ‘grumbles’ as she looks apologetically up at the man. “I’m sorry. My brother has no idea about technology and—“

“It’s no problem,” the worker tells her, once again back to his former ‘charming’ self. “I think I can guess who your brother is but just in case can you give me a room and a name?”

“Arthur Kirkland,” she drawls. “Room 513.”

The worker nods and looks through his computer though they all know it’s just the man going through basic training. When he finally does look up, though, he smiles and waves them on. “Go ahead,” he tells the, kindly. “I’m sure your brother gave you a key.”

“Thank you ever so much, sir!” Kai drawls and Alfred kind of feels like she’s overdoing it a little. A small, annoyed huff from somewhere near his right ear tells him that the cat thinks the same thing.

Wait, what? Since when are he and some stupid cat on the same wavelength?

The two start walking towards the door and when the man and the front desk are finally out of view, Alfred releases a small breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He throws his arm around Kai’s shoulder, the limb more relaxed now that they don’t have an audience and he finds himself grinning.

“’Ponce’?” He asks as they stop in front of an elevator, waiting for their floor number to light up. “What the hell’s a ponce?”

Kai shrugs and the elevator dings, alerting them to its arrival. The doors open and no one steps out. Both step into the elevator, feeling very relieved at not having an audience. Alfred beats Kai to the floor buttons with a delighted ‘ah-ha!’

Kai huffs but lets him have his moment.

“I remember my parents saying that all the time growing up,” she tells him as both lean back against the cool steel of the walls, their reflections staring back at them. “My mom, especially. Said people here couldn’t drive to save their lives.”

“Huh,” Alfred hums, the cat inside of hood shifting. He reaches a hand behind him to steady it and feels the cat’s head brush against his hand. He nearly jerks it back when he feels something rough against his fingers. He shivers.

Cats are so weird!

Finally, the elevator stops and the two wait for the doors to open on the fifth before slowly edging their way out. Both have a hand resting comfortably on their waists, reaching for their weapons and both have their eyes out for anything that shouldn’t be here.

Kai nods in his direction, telling him to the lead the way because, of course, of the two of them he’s the one who’s been here the most. So, he follows the hallways, each familiar step making something inside of him twist and burn.

The two finally stop in front of a door with the elegant cursive of ‘Rm. 513’ written in plain few for all to see. He hears the two cats ruffling inside of their hoodies and sees the white one peek his head over Kai’s shoulder, meowing plaintively and looking like he wants to be let down. Alfred’s cat is behaving only a little better.

When did the beast become Alfred’s _anything_?

Alfred steps aside and lets Kai do her work: she crouches down, reaching for the pretty little wand that’s hidden within her right sock, and removes it. She waves it—a narrow swish and flick of the wand—and the familiar ‘click’ of an unlocking lock can be heard. Alfred grins and glances down fondly at Kai.

“Have I ever told you that I love it when you do that?” He asks as he reaches for the door knob and turns it. Behind him, Kai snorts though he can definitely hear the amusement behind the sound,

“Only because it saves your brain cells from overheating,” she mutters. The comment is no doubt supposed to be for her ears only but, given Alfred’s... gift, he could call it, the uttered words follow him, dancing around his ears and making him stifle a laugh.

He turns and is about to say something when both cats give loud, plaintive whines, demanding to be let down. The two humans—well, part humans anyway—share a look and Kai shrugs, reaching over her shoulder to release the beast that’s decided that her hoodie isn’t good enough for its royal ass.

Alfred mirrors her actions and lets the cat loose, watching as both dart into the room with nothing more than furry streaks of color. Alfred snorts,

“I swear those two would have my head if they knew what I’d just did.”

“What?” Kai asks, sounding confused as she steps deeper into the home. Alfred can see in her movements the want, the _need_ to wander, to search. Alfred eyes her curiously. “Cats? Your soulmates?” When Alfred shakes his head, her eyes widen. “You mean they didn’t like animals?!”

“They’re just not…” Alfred trails off, no entirely sure how to finish. The Type? No. Not at all. In fact, even now as the two wander through the empty apartment Alfred can see nary a dust particle. Having a pet to upset this perfect balance of, well, perfection just seems out of their elements. Before Alfred can answer, though, the two hear a loud crash in one of the rooms—in the direction of what Alfred recognizes as the master bedroom—and the two practically dart into the room, hands on their weapons and poised for an attack. As they round the corner they see—

Two cats standing around a fallen stack of books, the orange and white one looking as though he’s trying very hard to open it.

Both sigh and relax their grips on their weapons and Kai steps into the room curiously, cautiously, as though she knows that she’s invading a space that isn’t hers but needs to anyway. She slowly walks towards the stack of books and crouches down, both cats meowing the entire time and the orange and white one looking like it’s trying to tell them something.

Alfred ambles up behind Kai as she crouches down to grab a book and straightens up, turning the book over in her hands and muttering something too low for him to hear, even with his sensitive hearing. She finally stops muttering and holds the book firmly in one hand, almost as though it’s some precious, fragile artifact and slowly drags her other hand across the surface off the book, her palm an inch away from the cover. When nothing happens she sniffs and raises her nose a fraction. “Of course,” she grumbles as she now holds the book like some moldy textbook. “Fake. For a second I thought we’d stumbled across something interesting but I guess not.”

With that announcement and another somewhat contemptuous snort, she easily tosses the book onto the bed, ignoring orange cat’s loud meow frotests. Alfred, feeling somewhat offended himself (because whether they like him or not that still belongs to one of his soulmates) crouches down and picks up the glaring cat, cradling it in the crook of his arm.

“Care to explain what that was about?” He demands as Kai once again crouches down to get a good look at the other books. “I mean, I get that you’re not a big fan of reading but—“

“I’m not a big fan of reading some horribly watered down copies of a spell book featuring spells that don’t even work,” Kai tells him as she pushes book after book aside, snorting when her fingers stop on a book about the occult. She grabs the spine of that book and turns it around, eyeing both sides of it before rolling her eyes and carelessly tossing it back into the pile. She straightens up, the fuzzy white cat at her feet trying to get her attention. She bends over, grabs it, and then lifts it to her shoulder. It perches almost proudly. Kai shakes her head and waves her arms, motioning towards all the books in the room.

“Who’s the wannabe Caster?” She asks with some note of derision in her voice. Alfred, ignoring her tone, thinks it through, trying to also ignore the persistent whining of the cat on his shoulder.

 “Arthur, I think?” He answers slowly, trying to picture Francis bent over a spell book. The thought is so… out there that it almost makes him laugh. Almost.

“Well, when you see him be sure to tell him that he just wasted hundreds of dollars on fake spell books,” Kai tells him as she turns to leave without even offering some defense to her statement. Alfred’s now curious.

“How can you tell?” He asks her back. She stops and glances over her shoulder, the one not bearing the cat, looking confused.

“What?”

“The books. How can you tell they’re fake?”

Kai finally turns to face him fully, her gaze unwavering. Finally, she answers, astonished, “You’ve known me for how long and you still can’t tell a fake from the real thing?”

Alfred shrugs, “Magic is your forte,” he tells her as the cat in his arms pushes himself up on Alfred’s forearm, looking like the star pupil in a class about to learn something new. “Mine is—“

“Fuzzy and fighting,” she snorts but makes her way back into the room, towards the bed where lay the abandoned rip-offs. She picks up the closest book, one of the thicker ones, and turns it front up in her hand. She waves Alfred closer. When Alfred reaches her side, she shows him the cover. “See this?” She asks as her fingers trace the title of the book, bound in what looks like expensive leather. Alfred nods and she continues, “Okay. So, every person in this world has a color and an animal. Something that represents them, something that offers an insight into their mind. Now, when a Caster or Brewer taps into this magic, their spirit colors and animals are discovered by them. No two colors or animals are exactly alike.”

“Why not?” Alfred asks as both he and the cat lean forward. Kai shrugs,

“There are literally thousands of different types of animals—magic and otherwise—along with the millions of different colors, shades, hues, etcetera. Anyways, so when a person of Power discovers their magic, they discover their… sigil, I guess you could call it. So, when books of magic—be they spells or potions—are created, their imbued with this magic and only those with the Power can open them. You can tell real books from”—she holds up the leather bound book in her hand—“ _these_ because when a person of Power exudes said power in an attempt to open the book, their sigil appears. Which,” she adds, knowing Alfred’s next question, “kind of looks like a little circle on the left hand side of the cover, which is colored in with your color with your animal in the center.”

“So, kind of like a crest?” Alfred asks, curious despite himself. In his arms, the cat stands stock-still. Kai shrugs,

“Kind of. It’s smaller than a crest without all the fancy Latin words to make it sound impressive.”

“And this…” Alfred begins before trailing off slowly, waving his hand near the book. Kai snorts again and repeats her early motion of waving the palm of her hand an inch away from the cover. When nothing happens, Kai hums derisively and tosses it back into the bed. Alfred watches it fall with a dissatisfied frown.

“That probably cost a lot,” Alfred tells her as Kai once again searches the room. She doesn’t even look up when she answers.

“Probably,” she hums. “But either way it was a waste of money.”

“What if there are spells, useful ones, in it?” Alfred demands as he shifts the cat in his arms enough so that he can reach for the book and grab it himself. He holds the book in front of him and the cat leans forward, resting a small paw on the cover and releasing a small, plaintive meow.

Kai doesn’t even turn to look, “Doubtful,” she answers. “From the looks of it, it’s a weird combo of spells and potions and any real spell books wouldn’t do that.”

“And how would you know?”

“Spells and potions are two different things,” Kai tells him as she begins rummaging through an open drawer. “A Caster and a Brewer—a being of Power that can cast spells and a being of Power that can brew potions—are very different. I, for example, am a Caster: a being that can create and-slash-or cast already created spells. I cannot, however, brew a potion to save my life.”

“That explains why you suck at cooking,” Alfred grumbles with a smirk, easily dodging when a shirt of some kind is thrown forcefully at his head.

“A Brewer is a being of Power that can create and-slash-or brew already created potions,” Kai continues, pointedly ignoring Alfred’s comment. “You remember Madam Belliveau from the last time we visited Madam Deveroux and Mama Adeline? She was a Brewer.”

“Is that why her food tasted like the nectar of the gods?” Alfred asks as Kai continues circling the room. Kai hums in assent. Alfred asks, “So, can someone be both a Caster and a Brewer?”

“’Course,” Kai answers before finally stopping beside him. “Lady Deveroux is both. Usually someone who is very, very powerful and very skilled in both. They’re usually older. When you can successfully do both then you’re what’s considered a ‘witch’ by today’s standards.

“Huh,” Alfred muses, still turning the book over in his hands. He frowns when he sees an imperfection creasing the otherwise smooth surface of the pages. He flips to that page and notes a ‘spell’ that claims to be a tracking spell. He calls for Kai’s attention and shifts the book so that she can see it. She reads it for a moment before snorting, raising a finger and letting it trail down along the page.

“All wrong,” she tells him. “Different types of spells are usually in different languages. Healing spells are in Greek; attacking-slash-defending spells are Latin; usually spells pertaining to knowledge are in Sanskrit. If this really were a tracking spell than it would be in Hieroglyphics or something.”

“What’s wrong with this?” Alfred demands. Kai lifts her head and tilts it disbelievingly to the side.

“Alfred, do these look like pictures to you?”

Alfred glances down, eyeing the strange squiggly lines. He wrinkles his nose and looks back up at Kai, “Uhh… no?”

Kai sighs and again traces the edges of the lines with her finger, “See, this is Latin with a mixture of some kind of Greek. The lines repeat again and again. With a real spell, there’s usually a set style, kind of like the Lord’s Prayer. In the Lord’s Prayer you start with praising God; then a blessing; then, like, asking for forgiveness; and then a valediction—a means of saying goodbye. That’s how prayers are usually set up. Well, with spells it’s kind of the same way: there’s an opening; then, like an offering of some kind; a sort of plea with both the spirit and the natural world; and then you request what you want to do.”

“I…”

“These lines are pretty much saying, ‘I’ve lost something, give it back. I want something, show me the way’ repeated again and again. You can’t cast anything with that.”

“What does the spirit world and natural world—“

“Seriously?!” Kai demands as she turns to glare full on at Alfred. The cat on her shoulder wobbles uncertainly for a moment before steeling itself. “I thought you at least tried to pay attention when Mama Adeline taught us this stuff?”

“Hey,” Alfred beings defensively, raising his hands palms up in front of him, “When they were teaching us, I was more focused on transformations and the different types of Weres and weaponry and shit.” Alfred suddenly drops his hands, eyes alight with some new, strange glow, “Wait. So are you telling me that there are some scientific aspects to magic?”

Kai frowns, “Of course. Science and magic are pretty much parallel lines, but people look at them from different planes. Like the surface of science and then beneath the surface of science.”

Alfred opens his mouth, about to demand a crash course in magical studies, when Kai interrupts him, “Aren’t we supposed to be looking for some clues about your missing soulmates?”

Alfred’s curiosity dims somewhat as he shoves the book of false spells into his pocket, becoming less of the curious teen and more like the ready fighter. 

“Alright,” he beings when the cat on his shoulder begins meowing, the noise sounding almost like a complaint. “Let’s try to find Waldo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I hope that this chapter isn't that confusing. If so, I apologize and will be more than happy to answer questions. Also, sorry for the long update time! School is insane! I think I kind of made up for it? This chapter is around 18 pages long on word. Sooo... leave a comment and tell me what you think!
> 
> Have a great day/night/life!!


	4. Welp... This is not what we were expecting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone learns something new and there's a lot of driving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This note is a bit out of the ordinary because usually I do these at the end but here goes: 
> 
> let me start out by apologizing that this took so long. I have no excuse save for school kicking my ass BUUUUT! I got my final grades back! :) C+, A, A-, and B+. I'm so happy! 
> 
> Let me also take a moment to thank everyone for their awesome comments and for sticking around this long. Y'all have no idea how blessed it makes me feel right now. Also, it's really the coolest thing when you sign on to this thing and see that someone has left a comment when the story hasn't updated in God knows how long so, just, thank you. Also, I know things are going to get pretty confusing because we, the readers, know about the cat thing, the cats know about the cat thing, but the actual people--Alfred and Kai-- don't. So, since they don't know about the whole human-to-cat thing then their first course of action for getting the cats is to name them. 
> 
> Hero--Matt  
> Spitfire (Yeah, creative, right? :P)--Arthur  
> Cass/Casanova--Francis  
> Albie--Gilbert  
> Jager--Feliciano  
> Inkspo--Ludwig  
> Hades--Romano  
> Helios--Antonio  
> Queenie--Elizabeta  
> Paw Revere--Roderich  
> and Sage--Yao  
> .... Wow. This was somewhat confusing to write down. Really wishing I had made the list shorter but whatever! So, yeah. Please enjoy and please review! 
> 
> Also, if y'all have any questions/concerns please feel free to ask!

Alfred stares flatly out the window, angry beyond belief at having found nothing more than some stupid knick knacks here and there. Of course, Kai had made sure that Alfred knew what type of things would actually work in a summoning charm—

(“Something that’s very near and dear to their hearts.”

“Ummm—“

“No, Alfred, sex does not count.”

“What the—No! How the—you can’t even use that! … Can you?”

“Err… you’d be surprised.”)

And still they had left the apartment with practically nothing save for the fake spell book which now resides in the pocket of Alfred’s hoodie. On his lap still sits the orange and white cat, as well as the uber fuzzy one. Leaning against his thighs are the red-eyed one and the very fuzzy that had been hitch-hiking on his shoulder earlier. Alfred has yet to completely get rid of them because every time he tries to remove one from his person they either begin screaming, wailing, or they just wait until Alfred’s settled back in before fleeing back to their spot on-him-slash-near-him.

Kai, Alfred sees, is fairing about the same, with the rest of the herd comfortably seated next to her or on her, especially the two cats with the weird hair thing who seem to find her lap more comfortable than the leather seat. Sitting very close to the two cats is the lithe black cat and the dark brown-spotted one.

Alfred sighs explosively, causing practically every cat in the car to jump while Kai just rolls her eyes, exasperated.

“I think we should name the beasts,” Alfred offers as Kai keeps her eyes focused firmly on the practically empty high way. Alfred almost feels bad for her because she’s gonna be driving for a good while and she’s gonna be exhausted by the end of the trip. It could be worse, he decides. The two have driven farther. “I’m getting real sick of calling them ‘the fuzzy one’ and ‘the black one.’”

“Alrighty, then,” Kai answers and Alfred can hear the relief in her voice that finally, someone’s coming up with a way to break the monotony of the stupid ride. “Any ideas?”

Alfred taps his lips with his finger and glances down at the cats on and near him. The fuzzy one and the orange one are curled around each other on his lap and the orange one is glaring up at him, as though he’s just woken sleeping beauty from its beauty rest. The fuzzy one bats an ear and also studies him. In fact, he has the eyes of all four of the felines focused on him.

He reaches for the orange one first and picks it up, ignoring the annoyed growling that issues from the back of its throat. The cat is still glaring at him. It’s also kind of funny seeing the strangely noble cat held up in his hands while the rest of its body dangles. Its paws barely touch his legs. After a moment or two of thinking, the cat finally releases another low growl, this one sounding almost like a hiss, and it begins squirming in his hands. Strangely enough, the fuzzy white one is making a choking noise that almost sounds like laughter. The cat is still glaring at him.

“I think I like Spitfire for this one,” Alfred decides as he finally lowers the cat onto his lap. The cat then proceeds to sit on its haunches and begins meowing up at him, almost as though it’s berating him. The fuzzy white cat ambles up to Spitfire and begins rubbing its head against Spitfire’s. The cat stops growling but still glares at him. Alfred reaches for the fuzzy white one and begins rubbing its back with his hands, amused as the cat arches up against the touch. When Alfred finally retracts his hand, the cat slopes forward and begins rubbing his head against Alfred’s arm. Next to him, Kai snickers,

“Well, aren’t you a little Casanova,” Kai drawls from her side of the car and Alfred smiles, liking the sound of the name as the cat begins purring and still brushing up against him. Alfred nods, tweaking the cat’s ear,

“Casanova it is, then,” Alfred muses as the—as Cass falls back and begins rubbing against Spitfire. Spitfire growls at his counterpart, flashes Alfred one last glare, and then huffs, turning his back to Alfred and collapses on his knee. Cass curls up around him and the two are quiet. Alfred laughs. He then turns to the other two. The large white one with the strange coloring around its neck studies him through curious purple-blue eyes. Alfred slowly crooks a finger at it and finds himself relaxing when the cat rubs its head against the finger, purring. Alfred brushes the space between the cat’s ears with two fingers. “Mmm… Hero?” Alfred suggests. Beside him, Kai hums in amusement. “I think Hero works.”

“Alrighty, then,” Kai responds as Hero leans against Alfred’s leg, purring up a storm. The lithe white cat is next and Alfred says before thinking,

“Albie.”

Kai chances a glance at Alfred, looking both startled and amused and asks,

“’Albie’? What the hell kinda name is that?”

“I’m sorry,” Alfred tells her defensively as Albie huffs. “But red eyes? White fur? Doesn’t that sound kind of like an albino?”

“Yeah?” Kai drawls out slowly. “It also kind of sounds like certain types of vampires. What, I think ‘Fang’ works better for the cat.”

“Well, that’s too damn bad,” Alfred huffs, insulted. He crosses his arms over his chest. At his side, Albie huffs too and damn Alfred if the beast doesn’t look _insulted_. “I’m naming him Albie.”

Kai sighs and nods, glances out the window once, and looks forward. “Okay,” she finally says, “So, we have Spitfire, Casanova, Hero, and… Albie.”

“Yep!” Alfred responds, feeling somewhat proud of herself. “Your turn.”

Kai is silent for a long while before finally glancing down at the two cats on her lap. Both are curled up around each other and fast asleep. One is fidgeting wildly and growling in its sleep and the other one is peacefully curled into a ball, back against Kai’s stomach. She brushes her fingers against the peaceful one.

“I think this one looks kind of like a… mmm… _Jäger._ ”

“Err… you mean like the beer brand?”

“No, stupid, it’s German for ‘hunter’.”

“How the fuck do you know these languages?”

“I got tired of only ever learning the dead ones.”

“… Seems legit.”

Kai hums and glances at the other cat curled on her lap and brushes the strange curl at its forehead. The cat’s tale twitches and it grumbles, but otherwise doesn’t react. “What does this one remind you of?”

Alfred studies the cat before answering, “A seriously pissed off zombie.”

The cat raises its head and glares daggers at Alfred as though mortally offended by the slight. Alfred smirks back and waves, not realizing that he’s reacting to a cat before it’s too late to take the gesture back. Alfred grumbles and falls back against his seat.

“I’m going to call him…” Kai trails off, still petting the cat, before she shrugs and answers, “Hades.”

Alfred snickers, “You so stole that from me.”

“No I did not!”

“What did I just call the cat, Kai?”

“… bugger off, you soggy mutt.”

“Careful, Kai, your Irish is showing,” Alfred retorts smugly as she fumes silently in her seat. Alfred continues, “So, we have Spitfire, Cass, Hero, Albie, Jäger, and Hades.”

“I think we should name the fluffy black one Eclipse.”

“The fuck kinda name is that?”

“Look who’s talking _Alfred Franklin Jones_.”

“Uh, no. Excuse you? Excuse-fucking-you?! Franklin is a very noble name! I-in fact, one of the founding fathers was named Franklin!”

“He was also the dude that wanted the Turkey to be the national bird.”

“That’s not the point! The point is if you name that cat ‘Eclipse’ then you’re going to scar him for life a-and all the other cats will make fun of him and shit! He’ll need therapy, Kai, _therapy_! We can barely afford food in this economy and you want that poor cat to suffer because you wanted to name him _‘Eclipse’_?!”

“Oh, and Hero’s _so_ much better, right?!”

“Uh, yeah! Everyone wants to be a hero! Nobody wants to be an eclipse!”

“An eclipse can block out the sun!”

“Heroes can save random citizens!”

“Yeah? Well, your hero can suck my—“

Before she has a chance to finish that lovely statement, her gaze, which had been drifting towards Alfred as she glared daggers at her partner, focused on the road long enough for her to catch the reflective gaze of some poor deer that had decided to leap merrily out into the abandoned highway. Kai swears and swerves, aiming to miss the deer, but insuring that neither die on the road. The car swerves into the next lane (thank God the road’s still empty, Alfred thinks) and then slams her feet on the brakes, stopping the car with a very sharp turn. Luckily, Alfred’s car is well used to this kind of abuse (man, has it really been a year since that church in Roanoke?) and both passengers are used to much worse… ah, accidents. The cats all seem well enough, maybe a little shaken, save for Spitfire who can’t seem to release his claw grip on Alfred’s thigh and the thin black one that looks a bit sick. Altogether, though, Kai’s quick reflexes are astonishing.

“Nice stop,” Alfred praises, grinning over at Kai and awkwardly patting the somewhat traumatized Spitfire. Kai flashes him a grin and puts the car into drive, glancing around them to make sure that no other cars are coming, and then begins driving, both acting as though nothing happened.

Spitfire is having none of that.

After getting over his paralysis, he sits up on Alfred’s thigh and begins meowing up at him, sounding annoyed and almost like he’s _berating_ him. Alfred shoots him a disbelieving look before saying,

“Hey, don’t look at me, I’m not the one driving!”

With those words, Spitfire stops what is no doubt a list of vicious cat swears and turns to Kai who flashes Alfred a dirty look of betrayal. Spitfire then proceeds to berate Kai in Cat.

Alfred is slowly prepping himself for a very, very long car ride.

…

Nearly five hours and a dozen arguments later, the two teenagers sit in the car with a dozen cats, all named.

The ones that have claimed Alfred: Albie, Cass, Hero, and Spitfire.

The ones that have claimed Kai: Jäger, Hades, Inkspot, Helios.

The ones that have not staked a claim and seem too preoccupied in their own worlds: Queenie (the only female in the group, they had learned in the most painful way possible), Sage, and Paw Revere. Alfred had come up with the last one for the holier-than-thou black and white cat who had then leveled a glare at them that could only be described as disgust. Neither cared. The cat could deal.

“Wanna stop somewhere?” Alfred asks as they hit the six hour dot. The car, save for the engine, is disturbingly quiet and the cats aren’t helping. Some of them seem to be asleep. Inkspot, the stern black cat that never leaves Kai’s side, is sitting up straight and acting as a guard dog of sorts. For some reason, Alfred finds the thought hilarious.

“Depends,” Kai answers, though this time she doesn’t take her eyes off of the road. “How far out are we? Where’s the closest place? And, most importantly, how much are we left with?”

Alfred, deciding that those were some legitimate concerns, ignores the cats and twists in his seat, reaching for his battered and beaten wallet that he’d thrown in the back some time ago. He ignores the indignant howls of the cats on him and continues his trek to get the wallet. When he finally manages he places himself comfortably in his seat and opens the wallet, glancing through it while ignoring the different aliases. Cass, Hero, and Spitfire for some reason find the task interesting and all lean forward and watch Alfred. Alfred tries to ignore them as he reaches for the money. He counts it slowly, feeling his chest tighten when he realizes that they’re now out of hundreds (they had had at least three the last time he’d checked) and are now running on 4 twenties and at least a dozen ones. He even finds a two dollar bill.

Score, he thinks smugly as he straightens the money out.

He counts the money slowly, methodically, and twice, not wanting to miss anything important. “We have a little over $90,” Alfred tells Kai as he places the money carefully back into the scrap of leather, ignoring the cats as they continue to nose his wallet.

“Define ‘a little over’?”

“$94,” Alfred clarifies and then turns to glare at Spitfire on his lap. He seems to be the gang leader of the _most annoying cats Alfred has ever known!_

“Maybe if we pass by a Mickey D’s we can stop and get something, alright?” Kai asks, tearing Alfred’s gaze away from the cats. Alfred wrinkles his nose but grins, excited to finally get some food into his system. God knows that he can barely remember the last time he’s eaten anything.

“Sweet!” Alfred chirps. He feels one of the cats tugging on the sleeve of Alfred’s hoodie and he looks down to see Hero studying him with sad purple eyes. Alfred sighs, “What?”

Hero noses the wallet and then looks back up at Alfred, his message clear, _Open up, please_.

“Why are ya’ll so interested in what’s in my wallet?” Alfred demands, though he obliges and opens the scrap leather, revealing at least five fake ID’s and couple of coupons that have expired. Beside him, Kai snickers,

“Sounds like a credit card commercial,” Kai comments, her grin obvious even from the angle at which Alfred views it. Alfred’s about to respond when one of the cats, he thinks its Cass for some reason, issues a loud _Mrow_ , calling Alfred’s attention away from the conversation. Alfred glances down at the cat who’s now eyeing one of the ID’s curiously. Alfred blinks and reaches for the ID, wondering what it is that’s got Cass’s attention.

 _Theodore Muskgrave_ , the ID reads and Alfred sees that it’s one of the badges that he’d used on his last call. Alfred reaches for the badge and twirls it between his fingers. The cats watch his every movement. “I hate shape shifters,” Alfred grumbles aloud for Kai’s benefit. He hears one of the cats, Albie he thinks, snort, and Alfred ignores him, “Like. Fuck those bastards. Honestly, what’s their problem?!”

“Are you still sore that they framed you for murder?” Kai asks, her tone somewhat patronizing. He hears a few of the cats squawk but he ignores them and turns to glare at Kai. She doesn’t notice it, what with her eyes on the road and everything, but Alfred has little doubt that she can feel the glare burning a hole through her. He finally gives up with a sigh and leans back against his seat, watching the dark trees fly by in random patterns of large and small. Short and tall. Thick and thin.

He doesn’t know why but suddenly, his memory flashes to a set of purple eyes, white-blonde hair, and an attitude fit for ancient history. Alfred snorts,

“Have we come up with anything for Ivan, yet?” Alfred asks curiously. When there’s no sudden response, Alfred continues, “Like, we’ve ruled out most forms of Weres, all shifters, witches, Casters and the like—“

“He’s not a vampire,” Kai adds helpfully, attention still focused somewhat on the road. Alfred hums in agreement,

“Incubus and succubus are out too,” Alfred adds. He blinks in surprise when he feels something burrowing into his hoodie and he glances down to see Cass’s face hidden by the dark expanse of his hoodie. Alfred slowly reaches out and begins dragging his hand across the smooth arch of his back. He allows himself a small grin as the cat begins purring.

Then Hero and Spitfire stare at Cass and Alfred notes the strange way that Spitfire is crouched, almost as though he’s about to pounce, and Alfred shakes his leg thus throwing Spitfire off balance. The cat growls and glares up at Alfred, who glares back. Still burrowed in his hoodie, Cass continues to purr. Maybe it’s his imagination, but the cat’s purr seems almost smug.

“I’ve been reading up on Slavic mythology,” Kai continues as Alfred tries to ignore the whining from Spitfire. “Maybe Ivan’s a zduhać or a Koschei?” Kai asks and Alfred looks up from where he’s obviously favoring Cass over Spitfire.

“Care to explain what those even are?”

Kai sighs dramatically and Alfred wants to tell her that he’s the fight behind their little team. Not the brain. Then again, they kind of switch off on roles so, whatever.

“A koschei—pronounced Ko (long ‘o’)-sh-jay-eye (at least in our Americanized vocab)—is an evil being who can’t be killed because his soul is hidden outside of his body.”

Alfred raises an eyebrow and looks up at Kai, ignoring the cats that are brushing up against him. “Ahh… I know that Ivan’s not the easiest person to get along with but to call him _evil_? Bit of a low blow, isn’t it?”  

Kai rolls her eyes, “the idea of ‘evil’ changes with time, Alfred. Romanian’s thought that Dracula was evil—and yeah, he is a bit of a dick (don’t you _dare_ tell him I said that)—but nowadays he seems fine, decked out in suits and shit and keeping the vampires at bay.”

“For the most part,” Alfred growls under his breath, raising his hand to brush his knuckles against the ghost of the vampire bite. On his legs, Spitfire nudges against the hand that’s still resting on Cass’s arched spine. Cass’s head, no longer burrowed within the confines of Alfred’s hoodie, now rests on Alfred’s leg. Again, maybe it’s his imagination, but Cass seems really smug. “What about the other thing you said?”

“Oh! The zduhać—pronounced, well, you’ll never be able to pronounce it anyways, so moving on!—the zduhać is kind of like a guardian with extraordinary powers.”

“Well, that’s a rather broad definition, isn’t it?” Alfred asks with the slight grin. “I mean, Guardian of the forest? The Pine trees? Water? Cities? States? Countries? Narrow it down a little, Kai.”

Kai huffs irritably, “I don’t know, okay? What defines a domain? Where he lives? Where he hunts? Where he keeps his safe houses? All I know is that Ivan’s a lot older than a lot of the things we’ve faced and he has to be _something_.”

“I think the Guardian fits him best,” Alfred responds when the silence in the car drags on and on. “We would be six feet under at least a dozen times over if not for him.”

Kai snorts, “Madam Devoroux would love to hear you say that.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know,” Kai admits. “But still.”

There this sort of all-out silence that descends, leaving the two within the confines of their own minds before Kai releases a small laugh, almost like a puff of air, and the cats around her glance up. Alfred studies her curiously, silently asking the obvious question.

“Remember Roanoke?” Kai asks and Alfred (understandably because, of everything they’ve ever hunted, ghosts are just a whole new level of _fuck no_ ) shivers and nods, inclining his head to the side as one of the cats on his laps begins rubbing against his arm. “Have you talked to Heather lately? How is she?”

At the mention of Heather, Alfred’s mind wanders back to a nearly a year ago, meeting the beautiful dark-haired, high-cheeked, Mattaponi girl. Despite himself, Alfred blushes and feels a stupid grin unraveling against the crevices of his cheeks.

Nearly a year ago, Alfred and Kai had been called to investigate a string of odd noises around an area, owned by a local Mattaponi tribe. The people were friendly, save for the oldest woman there who had turned out to be a very helpful source in finding out where the noises were coming from (apparently, some moron had begun digging around the area and had then unearthed some bones. Instead of leaving the bones where they were like a good person, the idiot had taken them home for keepsakes. Alfred hoped that the moron forever and always stepped on Legos.)

Suffice to say, the two had spent a month in Virginia (probably their longest stay almost anywhere) and Alfred had formed a, uhh, _relationship_ that he really shouldn’t have, given that they had soulmates to begin with. Alfred can’t see his face but he knows that the stupid grin is now replaced with something softer as his memory hits him.

“She’s good. Theo and Ava are doing well and she starts another semester in the fall.”

“Is she still entering at the top of her class?”

Alfred smiles smugly, pride practically filling his every pore as he announces, “Hell, yeah.”

Kai smiles and shakes her head, “How are the twins doing?”

“Ava’s learning to walk—“ Alfred begins proudly while ignoring Kai’s smug, ‘precocious little bugger.’ “And Theo’s slowly but surely following her lead.”

“She still in for Medicine?” 

“Of course,” Alfred beams. “She’s gonna be the top of her graduating class, I fucking bet’cha.”

Kai shakes her head but grins. “Like hell I’m betting against _that_ assumption.”

...

The two drive on, their conversation drifting here and there and the entire time all Arthur can think is:

_What. The. Fuck?_

He’s mental. His soulmate is certifiably mental and there’s sadly nothing neither he nor Francis can do about.

Honestly. Shifters? Casters? ‘ _Weres_ ’? This sounds like nothing more than some God awful telly show on its last leg of life. How did they even come to think of something like this?!

Arthur’s mind, regretfully, shifts to that one night, many months ago, when the two had caught Alfred sneaking in in the dead of night with a strange bruise against his tanned neck. The boy had said it was a bite mark—a _vampire_ bite mark. What kind of drugs is the boy on and how can they get him the kind of help he surely needs?

“Says the guy who was turned into a cat, right?” Gilbert snorts from his spot on the dash. The little duo had stopped at the closest fast food restaurant—a place where Arthur and Francis would never willingly step into no matter the circumstances—leaving the cats to their own devices as they locked the car and left to enjoy their meals. Arthur huffs and glowers at the red-eyed fiend.

“You just found out that your soulmate’s brother has gone ‘round the bend and the only thing you can think of is—“ Arthur begins before he’s cut off by a low growl from Matthew. Arthur eyes Matthew in surprise, wincing as the usually shy Canadian levels a glare that could cut through marble.

“Gilbert has a point, Arthur,” Matthew snaps, his tail flicking back and forth. “We’re a bunch of humans-turned-cats and you’re over there whining about your _soulmate_ being crazy?”

Arthur stares at Matthew with wide eyes and Francis glides between the feuding group and steps protectively in front of Arthur.

“He has a point,” Francis argues, though somewhat lamely, “I—vampires? That is—“

“Impossible?” Gilbert asks with a snort as he also steps in front of his soulmate. “Come on. He positively reeks of werewolf and something else and you’re really going to sit there and argue about this?”

“I—what?”

Before anyone can answer, a reverberating beep bounces through the car and all the cats jump, startled despite themselves at the sudden noise. Seconds later, the two teenagers slide into the car, Alfred in the driver’s seat and Kai in the passenger’s.  It takes Arthur a second to realize that the two are continuing a conversation from earlier and, if their demeanor is anything to go by, then their discussion is serious at best.

“You sure Kiku said—“

“Yess,” Alfred hisses, removing the furry quartet from his seat and fastening his seatbelt. Alfred starts the car, the slow rumble of the engine encompassing them all, and revs the car before putting it into gear. The car propels out of the McDonalds parking lot, earning a few beeps from the cars around them, but neither human occupant takes notice.

“Did he give us coordinates or an address or something?”

“Yep,” Alfred answers as he leans forward. He impatiently brushes the cats away as Arthur and the others try to get closer. “From the sounds of it, the location is close to the safe house. Or, you know, like an hour or so outside of it.”

“That safe house is starting to sound less safe by the minute,” Kai grumbles as Alfred pushes the speedometer. Alfred snorts.

“Tell me about it.”

“How long until we get there?”

“Going the speed limit? Two and a half hours. With me driving? I can probably cut that in half.”

“Do it then, but make sure neither of us die.”

“No promises.”

Arthur feels the vibration of the engine as the car accelerates even more and despite his earlier discomfort, Arthur curls up right next to Alfred and Francis curls up beside Arthur. Matthew climbs up on Alfred’s leg and leans back against him.

Arthur feels somewhat miffed that Alfred doesn’t shove _Matthew_ off.

The group sits in silence, each of the cats looking at the human that they’ve either claimed or prefer while Kai and Alfred sit in a tense silence. Finally, Kai asks,

“Want me to do a tracking spell?”

“Thought you said you needed something from the place?”

“I need something that belongs to people if I try to track people,” Kai tells him, reaching for one of the two Italians and rubbing her knuckles between their ears. Judging by the purring that issues from the cat and not a growl, Arthur assumes that the cat is the nicer of the two Italians. “If I wanna get to a place, all’s I need is the address and then it’s like a GPS.”

Alfred doesn’t say anything as he reaches into his pocket, his eyes never leaving the road, and pulls out his phone. He tosses it to Kai who unlocks it and reads through the messages, mouthing whatever texts she’s reading. After a minute of reading, she nods once to herself and then closes the flip phone, dropping it into one of the cup holders.

She closes her eyes and Arthur watches closely as she breathes in deeply and then breathes out, relaxing her muscles. She lifts her hands and places them on the dashboard, eyes still closed, and begins muttering and humming something under her breath.

Before all of their eyes—save for Alfred, who has yet to take his eyes from the road—they watch as something silvery, almost like a vine, curls around her forearms and then snakes up her wrist, coalescing into a small, silvery silhouette that looks like some kind of dog, mayhap. Still chanting under her breath, Kai slowly lifts her palms off of the dashboard and holds her palms face up, the silvery substance flowing and weaving around her fingers until finally a small 3-D _thing_ rests in the palm of her hands.  The creature-shadow-thing floats centimeters above her skin, throwing the car into an odd silver light and casting an ethereal glow against her face. She breathes out words and it takes Arthur a minutes to realize that her words had not only been in English but had been an address.

She repeats the address once. Twice. And then a third time before the silvery figure completely vanishes, though neither look too worried.

All the cats, however, are an entirely different story.

The cats are staring wide-eyed at the now empty palms where this teenage girl had been holding light, who not only appears unperturbed, but also looks annoyed.

“Any shortcuts?” Alfred asks suddenly.

Kai hums, her gaze unfocused a million miles away and then nods as her hands fall to her knees and she leans forward.

“Yeah,” she mutters distantly. “When we get to the exit, there’s another turn not five minutes after. We can shave off at least twenty minutes of we take that next exit.”

“Got it,” Alfred answers as their speed increases.

“There’s also a forested path that we can cut through to salvage even more time.”

“Is there a car path?”

Kai stiffens as she turns her head to the side and cocks it. For a moment, it looks like she’s glancing around or looking for something, but then she shakes her head. “No. The forest’s a protected area. We can only get so far before we take the rest of it on foot.”

“D’you know what we’re even after?”

Kai’s quiet for a moment longer, eyes still distant, though all felines watch as her eyes narrow at something and she leans forward, as though she’s trying to get a closer look at something. Then her eyes widen and she swears violently.

Alfred jumps and glances over at her, “What? What is it?”

“Our old friends,” she grumbles acidly. “Thought The Silver Bullets were a renegade group.”

“Well, they’re more than that now,” Alfred grumbles under his breath. “Are you sure it’s them?”

“I think I can recognize their stupid chants and outfits, Alfred.”

“Any idea why they’re there?”

Silence follows the question and Kai’s brow furrows, looking every bit as confused as Arthur and the others feel. Finally, she shakes her head,

“I can’t see any- _FUCK AND A HALF_!”

Alfred’s hands jerk, causing the car to swerve and Kai leans forward, her hands crossed atop the dashboard, her eyes squeezed shut and her head burrowed in her arms. The cats are all curled tightly around each other, all scared despite themselves at the loud noise.

“What the hell was that?” Alfred demands as he straightens the car and speeds forward. Kai winces and then straightens up, rubbing her temples.

“Those fucking dickstains,” she snarls and Arthur can’t help but note something changing in her accent. Her eyes are now open and there looks to be a fire blazing in their depths. She glares daggers out the window, still rubbing her temples. Arthur is somewhat grateful that the look isn’t directed at him. “Those—those—gah! Those fucking inbreds!”

“What happened?” Alfred demands as he leans forward, trying to read the road signs around them to find their exit.

“Those asswipes used fucking spells to hide themselves!” Kai growls, throwing her hands in the air. “What the fuck kind of self-respecting Hunter would use fucking spells to hide themselves?! They can’t do that! If they wanna use their little weapons to murder us all one by one then fine! They can go on their merry fucking way and try to kill off fucking Casters or Brewers or Witches or something. They do not have the _right_ to use fucking spells to lure us in!”

“Are the spells—“

“Oh they’re weak.” Kai growls as she continues rubbing her forehead, her glare as hard as ever. “I wouldn’t expect anything less than weak spells cast by _humans_ but there are a lot. Like, I swear I don’t even know where they got a spell book or something for that many warding spells but they not only managed it, but managed to do it in at least a dozen of different languages. _Shit_!”

“The exit is—“

“Coming up on your right,” Kai tells him and there’s this low growl in her voice and Arthur can tell it’s more from indignation than anything else. Alfred, judging from the way he glances at her warily out of the corner of his eye, shakes his head,

“We’re here to make sure they’re not doing anything illegal, Kai,” he warns her, though their speed is still slowly increasing every now and again. “We need to make sure they’re not breaking the Pacts—“

“They’re _humans_ ,” Kai growls back, her hands tightly curled around her knees. “They’re not within the confines of The Guild and therefore have no right to even open a spell book let alone use those spells. At least the Guild looks down on us and that means that they wouldn’t try this but these—these— _ugh_ these—“ Kai cuts herself off in a trail of what can only be foreign words. _Nasty_ foreign words, but foreign nonetheless.

Near him, both Feliciano and Romano glance up at Kai.

“Chill, Kai,” Alfred orders sternly. Very slowly and with heavy breathes, Kai calms down enough to start speaking.

“The turn’s coming up and if we make it in ten then there’s a pretty good chance that we can cut off whatever illicit thing those… _people_ are doing.”

Alfred nods and once again the car is plunged into silence.

…

Alfred slams the door shut and glances up at the forest around them. Through the canopy of trees, his sight is good enough that he can see the sprinkle of stars against the sky and he can spell the incredible scent of wet dirt and leaves and just… _nature_.

On his shoulder sits Hero and weaving around his legs are Spitfire and Cass. The other cats sit on the edges of the front seats, staring out at the forest through the open car doors.

Kai appears next to Alfred and Alfred opens the trunk.

Before them sits an array of different weapons for all sorts of boogie men and women. Kai, ever the minimalist, reaches for a silver dagger. Alfred, ever the show-off, reaches for one of the swords that they had gotten overseas. With a little bit of magic from Kai and a lot of geeking out from Alfred, the two had been able to sneak the Ye Olde European weapon across the Atlantic. Alfred was strangely fond of the weapon, especially after it had gotten him through his first international hunt. He’d been fifteen.

“Time sure does fly,” he mutters to Kai who snorts. The cats study the two curiously and Hero leans forward from his spot on Alfred’s shoulder in an effort to get a better look at the weapons. Alfred reaches for the trunk and slams it shut. The metallic echo reverberates off the trees surrounding them, making the world eerier than before. Alfred sighs and walks around the car, the cats tailing him.

He lifts Hero off of his shoulder and places him in the passenger seat next to the thin, white cat. He then lifts Cass and Spitfire into the car as well. All the cats lean forward, eyeing Alfred expectantly. He points to the stern black cat who still sits proudly.

“Inkspot, you’re in charge. Watch my car and make sure no one gets in or out. Okay?”

Maybe it’s Alfred’s imagination, but he can almost swear that the cat’s nodding, almost as though it can understand him. Alfred shakes the thought away and steps back, slamming the door shut and making sure to lock it.

Cats are weird.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I started this a while ago and only recently decided to put it on AO3. Any feedback remarks are welcome, though if you're going to say, 'this sucks.' Please say it... somewhat nicely. If that is at all possible? Anyways! I hope you read this and enjoy it!
> 
> Also. So, this is something I've been thinking about for a while. This may be a huge 'DUH!' moment for everyone in this fandom but, the reason Alfred is always late for the meetings is because Hima's playing off of him always being late for World Wars, right? Like, him entering WWI in 1917 after Europe's been fighting for 3 years and him entering WWII in 1941 when the World's been fighting since 38? 39? Is Hima just being funny? Or is a stereotype where Americans are always late? If so... Okay, he kind of hit that nail on the head...


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